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THE 


HaUr^ted Bridal Clianqber, 

A ROMANCE OF OLD-TIME NEW ORLEANS. 

By George Augustin. 

>v 


“7/ ever you are false to me^ I will die of a broken 
heart and my ghost will come hack to earth and haunt you, 
and harm those ivho are clear to you.’’'* — Page S29. 


) I . 1 ) ) • i . 



Copyrighted and Pubeished by the Autfior. 


FOR SALE BY 

TUGS. F. GESSNER, 
611 Canal Street, 
New Okfeans, La. 




THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

MAY. 19 1902 

COPVHIOHT EMTHY 

oL, n. 

CLASS ^XXc. No 

O / (>'(:> 

COPY B. , 


Entered according to Act of Congress, 
in the year 1902 

By GEORGE AUGUSTIN, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Wash- 
ington, D. C. 

All rights of Translation or Dramatization Specially 
Reserved. 


JOHN D. NIX, KSQ., 


Of the New Orleans Bar, 


This Book is Respecljully Dedicated. 












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BY WAY OF PKEFACE. 


This is not the story of a haunted house, nor are ghosts 
paraded for the mystification of the reader; it is simply 
the chronicle of events which took place in the dim long 
ago, when chivalry and frivolity ruled over the old French 
town founded by Gouverneur Bienville. 

The characters depicted in these pages are not mere 
marionettes, manufactured for the purpose of fiction. Most 
of them lived, loved and hated at a time when our grand- 
fathers were boys and all that section outside of the 
Vieux Carre was almost a wilderness. No doubt many of 
our venerable citizens, as they smile over the escapades of 
the quartette of absinthe drinkers, will recognize old com- 
rades; and who knows whether they will not recall to mind 
the time when they themselves were clinking glasses and 
exchanging hon mots in the famous old Absinthe House? 

The nucleus of this story was begun about ten years ago, 
shortly after the publication of the authoFs first book, 
^^Bomances of New Orleans.” Owing to press of other 
matters, its completion was put off from time to time and 
it was not until last year that decisive steps were taken 


IV 


for its publication. The intention was to call the book 
“The Heart of a Man” and the original subscription con- 
tracts bear that name; but Mile. Titine suggested “The 
Haunted Bridal Chamber” and to Mile. Titine the author 
refers you if you wish to argue the matter. And for a cor- 
roboration of the momentous dialogue in the Restaurant de 
la Louisiane, go and interview the grieving Fernand 
Alciatore, who to this day ruefully contemplates the 
geometric figures he innocently chalked down at deponent’s 
request on the memorable night of the christening of this 
book. 

What mimicry of fate that the corner of Carondelet and 
Common streets should to-day be the radiating point of the 
business and financial vortex of the metropolis ! Shade of 
Monsieur Boulotte, arise from thy long sleep and weep 
over the desecration ! Where once stood Madam Pradel’s 
stately colonial mansion and tropical gardens, the Hennen 
Building rears its majestic crest and the legendary tradi- 
tions of the past have been trodden under foot by the 
American — that restless, money-mad, iconoclastic race which 
has immolated the chivalric and grandiose on the altar of 
Progress. Poor old Monsieur Boulotte! Weep in thy im- 
potent wrath and retire to’ thy long and peaceful sleep for 
all eternity. 

GEOKGE AUGUSTm. 


New Orleans, April, 1902. 


CONTENTS. 


PROLOGUE. 

At Miln^burg 9 

CHAPTEK I. 

Mademoiselle Titiiie, Milliner 21 

CHAPTEK II. 

The Secret of the Old Wall 26 

CHAPTER III. 

Lucien Dumont, Artist 30 

CHAPTEK IV. 

A Comedy of Circumstantial Evidence 35 

CHAPTEK V. 

The Advent of the Serpent 42: 

CHAPTEK VI. 

Sweet Reveries 51 

CHAPTER VII. 

Discord 56 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Promise 63 

CHAPTEK IX. 

The Hypocrite 68- 

CHAPTEK X. 

The Absinthe Drinkers 72.' 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


GHAPTEK XI. 

The Plot That Palled T6 

GHAPTEK XII. 

The Tempter 79 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Brother and Sister 83 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Triumph of the Sepert 88 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Omen of the Palling Star 92 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Logician Comes to Grief 97 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Chrildren of the Street 102 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Mere Jiguette’s Dance Hall 106 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Capture of Minette Ill 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Prodigal and the Waif 118 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Strange Supper and A New Cousin 125 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Millistoon’s Romantic Dream 129 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Solioquy and A Marvelous Cab Ride 133 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Millistoon’s Awakening 138 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Plight to Europe 141 


CONTENTS. vii 

CHAPTER XXVL 

The Story of Little Marianne 150 

CHAPTER XXVIL ' 

The Heart of a Man 168 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

After the Serpent Came 171 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Legend of the Blue Violet 175 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Great Snow Storm of 1830 178 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Peau-D’Or, the Voudou Queen 181 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The Heart of a Girl 188 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The Way of the World 194 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Monsieur Voulotte’s Granddaughter 197 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Wedding 214 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Love-Letter of a Poet 217 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Tragedy 223 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Guoneuille’s Mystification 230 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A Famous Murder Trial 235 

CHAPTER XL. 

The Watcher By the Grave 239 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE XLI. 

The Confession of Pierre Latour 
CHAPTEE XLII. 

“For All Eternity.” 


PEOLOGUE. 


AT MILNEBURG. 

Seated on the wooden railing at the end of the long pier 
which juts into Lake Pontchartrain from the village of 
Milneburg, dreamily watching the rose-red sun as it dipped 
lower and lower in the limpid waters, suffising the hazy 
atmosphere with soft, shimmering light — I was suddenly 
aroused from my reverie by a feminine voice pleasantly 
saying: 

“Good evening, poet and dreamer.” 

I turned to look at the speaker. 

“Why, good evening. Mademoiselle Titine. What brings 
you to this secluded corner of the world?” 

“I just came over from Mandeville on the Camelia. I 
saw you worshiping the setting sun, and made bold to in- 
trude, to scold you a bit. You don’t even stop at the shop 
any more now? — Ah, le villain!’' 

“I have been very busy lately.” 

“Too busy to stop just a minute? Since Madame Zulette 
went away, you have gradually estranged yourself — and 
now it is three months since we last saw you! Do you 
think it is fair?” 


10 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


I could not refrain from smiling at the little French 
woman’s earnestness. 

“I confess I have been remiss,” I said, “but there are 
extenuating circumstances. Let us adjourn to the refresh- 
ment pavilion and discuss the matter over soda-water and 
cakes.” 

After the waiter had served us, I began: 

“1 have been leading a hermit’s life for the past three 
months. Do you remember what a matinee fiend I used 
to be? Well, I have not been to the theatre since Bern- 
hardt and Coquelin played at the Tulane.” 

Mile. Titine stopped in the act of sipping her soda-water 
and looked quizzically at me. 

“This is strange — ^very strange,” she said, dubiously 
shaking her head; “in fact, it is incredible. And what be- 
came of that pretty young lady I saw you with at the 
Grand so often?” 

“I have not seen her since Mardi Gras eve.” 

Mile, Titine was thoughtful for a moment; then, as if 
enlightened by a sudden idea: 

“I? it possible that you are studying for the priest- 
hood?” 

1 burst out laughing. 

“Oh, no! — I am too worldly to do such a thing,” 

“Then why this sudden seclusion from the world?” 

Leaning over and sinking my voice to a whisper, I 
said: 

‘‘I have been writing a new boohF^ 

The little lady gave a sigh of relief. 

“How you frightened me ! I thought you were about to 
make some terrible revelations. Ah, farceur! Of course 
it’s poetry?” 


AT MILNEBUEG. 


11 


“i!^o — it is a novel.” 

‘•What is it about 

“Old-time ATvv Orleans. 1 wrote the last chapter this 
morning. Everything is ready for the printer, with one 
exception.” 

“And that is — ” 

“The title.” 

“It seems to me this ought to be an easy task, after the 
book is written.” 

“It is easier to write a book than to find a suitable title 
for it.” 

“Perhaps I can help you. — What is the plot 

“It is well-known to you — the story of the old house in 
which you carry on business.” 

“I thought you had given up the idea?” 

“No — I was only waiting for the inspiration.” 

“And when it came, you immediately sat down and 
wrote like a madman until the work was finished, forget- 
ting even your dearest friends? Ah, egoiste!” 

She playfully tapped me with her fan, then resumed: 

“I always thought there was good material for a beau- 
tiful romance in the traditions of the Dumont family, as 
told to Madame Zulette by Peau-d’Or, the reformed Vou- 
dou Queen, who was reputed to be one hundred and thirty 
years old when she died. You must remember seeing her 
at our house in the Faubourg Marigny?” 

“Oh yes — we were great friends, the old witch and I. 
She took a liking to me because I could converse with her 
in Congo lingo and told me wonderful stories — which were 
religiously converted into cash by your humble servant, 
through the medium of newspaperdom. And when the old 
sorciere died — in 1897, I believe — I was one of her s’ncerest 


12 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


mourners — for reasons I need not dilate upon.” 

Mile. Titine shook her head and her little gray eyes 
twinkled mischievously. 

“Well, well!” she said, half-scoldingly. “So it was purely 
from mercenary motives that you were such a frequent 
visitor at our home?” 

“Nothing else,” I answered, seeing she was joking. 

“And while you were sipping our cafe-noir and eating 
our colas, you were probably figuring how much you would 
get for the latest story Peau-d’Or had told you ?” 

“Not probably, but certainly.” 

“And you have the insolence to admit it?” 

“Yes — because I can read unconditional pardon in your 
beaming countenance. — Permit me, mademoiselle.” 

And I helped her to a monumental choux-a-la-creme — 
her favorite cake. 

“I will forgive — on one condition.” 

“And that is—” 

“That you do penance by coming to see us as often as 
you used to.” 

“Agreed — with the greatest of pleasure.” 

I held out my hand and she warmly clasped it. 

“Your gallantry is somewhat tardy, but is, nevertheless, 
appreciated,” observed my companion; then, laughingly: 
Do you mention me in your story?” 

“Most assuredly.” 

“And Madame Zulette?” 

“Yes.” 

“And Lolotte, the Dumonts, Minette, the Boulottes, 
Little Marianne, Papa Frimoose, Millistoon, Chainarre, 
Guoneuille, Mere Jiguette — and all the people Peau-d’Or 
talked about?” 


AT MILNEBUEG. 


13 


“Every one of them.” 

“I think that Guoneuille, the reporter and absinthe 
driiiker, was a delightful personage. What did you do with 
his love letter to Little Marianne, which Madame Zulette 
gave you 

“It wijl appear in full in the book. I have given a whole 
chapter to this remarkable production.” 

Mile. Titine joyously clapped her hands. 

“The book must be grand!” Then, as if suddenly recol- 
lecting something : “Ah, the name 1” She was thoughtful a 
few moments, then resumed: “How dreadfully dull I am! 
I canT even think of such a simple thing as a name. And 
yet, it looks so easy. — What a noise that locomotive 
makes !” 

The pondrous old-style engine, to which were attached 
the venerable cars of the Pontchartrain Railroad, was puff- 
ing great clouds of steam and making as much noise as a 
boiler factory in full blast. 

“The Pontchartrain is the second oldest railroad in the 
United States,” I remarked. “It was built in the twenties. 
It has shied at the march of progress and I believe the 
same rolling stock is used that delighted our grandparents 
when they were toddlers. But I notice that your glass is 
empty.” 

I was about to ring for the garcon, when there was a 
blood-curdling toot from the locomotive, as if a thousand 
demons were holding a Salvation Army meeting. 

Mile. Titine jumped to her feet. 

“J/o?i Dieu, how that whistle frightened me!” she ex- 
claimed, putting her hands to her ears. “If it is the same 
which was in use when your grandparents were babies, it 
must have scared the poor thing into fits. . . . Oh!” 


14 THE TIAUETEH BKIHAL GHAMBEE. 


She gave a nervous scream and ran towards me; then 
bursting into a merry laugh : 

“That whistle must have unstrung my nerves; but he 
poked his head in so suddenly, I could not help from 
screaming.” 

I looked towards the door and saw the smiling features 
of genial, popular Mike TIabans, the manager. 

“Excuse me for intruding,” he said, in his usual affable 
way, “but unless you don’t mind walking in town, you had 
better hurry up. This is the last train.” 

I glanced at the clock. 

“Ten o’clock already '^ I had no idea it was so late.” 

We boarded the train in the nick of time, for we were 
hardly seated, than conductor Colin Baker gave the signal, 
and the old cars, creaking and groaning began slowly 
moving over the trestle toward the village, a quarter of 
a mile away. As we passed the picturesque lighthouse, I 
observed : 

“This is where the Lady of the J.ake lives.” 

“Is the Lighthouse keeper a woman ?” 

“Yes; and a lady of culture and refinement, the de- 
scendant of one of the proudest and most illustrious fami- 
lies of Louisiana.” 

And I briefly told her the story of the “Lady of the 
Lake,” as the brave little woman who looks after Uncle 
Sam’s interests is called by frequenters of the Lake resort. 

The train stopped for ten minutes at the village. From 
the car window, I pointed out to my companion the prin- 
cipal objects of interest — the old Washington Hotel, years 
ago the scene of grand fashionable balls, now a picturesque 
ruin; Boudro’s Garden, the fampous picnic grounds, where 
the Sails Soucis gave their last festival, twenty years ago; 


AT MILA'EBUKG. 


15 


-Moreau’s Kestauraiit, renowned for its game and lish; the 
tumbled-down depot, now abandoned, with the gaping holes 
in the grass-growm roof and its swaying weatherboarding. 
But the oddest sight of all, and which made Mile Titine 
laugh till the tears ran down her cheeks, is the big sign, 
printed, in bold characters, in front of Pete Bersetich’s re- 
freshment booth, which announces : 

HAM, PISH ANB TOBACCO SANDWICHES. 

A tobacco sandwich strikes one as a decided novelty, in- 
digenous to Milneburg — but by putting a period after the 
word ‘Tobacco,” the meaning is as clear as distilled water: 
HAM, EISH AND TOBACCO. SANDWICHES. 

At last the train crawled leisurely away . . . past the 
cypress swamps, teeming with night-life and strange 
noises; past the Hebrew Cemetery, whose walls loomed like 
enormous white arms in the spectral darkness; past the 
Gentilly Poad, winding like a huge chalk-mark through 
the trackless swamps; past the grazing prairies, with their 
burning grasses and sluggish bayous . . . until the lights 
of the city blinked in the distance and what seemed an in- 
terminable journey, was happily drawing to an end. We 
had been silent since we had left Milneburg, for the roar 
of the train prevented any conversation. When we neared 
Claiborne Avenue, the train slackened almost to a walk. 
Mile. Titine broke the silence: 

“I have been thinking and thinking, trying to find a 
name for your story — but I find the task too great for my 
feeble imagination. I can suggest nothing.” 

“I had an idea of calling the book ‘The Heart of a 
Man / I remarked. 

The little lady shook her head negatively. 

“This would be a misnomer. Lucien Dumont, the hero, 


16 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


had no heart.” Then she added: ^^Come on, monsieur. The 
train has stopped. You will not have far to go to escort 
me home. Do you remember the old place?” 

“0, yes — Kue Marigny. But it is too early yet to go in 
that direction. What say you to a little supper, to cement 
our reconciliation?” 

“At this time of the night? Why it must be nearly 
eleven.” 

“It is no later than if we had gone to the theatre.” 

Mile. Titine was thoughtful a few moments. 

“Just to punish you. I’ll accept. Where shall we go?” 

“Mine host, Fernand Alciatore, of the world-famed 
Restaurant de la Louisiane, will be delighted to serve us a 
Lucullean repast and chalk it on ice.” 

We boarded a Claiborne Avenue car and shortly 
reached our destination. While waiting for the supper in 
the famous rendez-vous of the epicure and gourmet, the 
book again became the subject of conversation. 

“The mystery of the moans and cries which are heard 
to this day in the old house has never been explained,” ob- 
served Mile. Titine. Why not call it — ” 

She stopped short and nodded a gracious greeting to 
Madame Bezaudun, who had just entered and was looking 
in our direction and smiling in that charming way which 
has made her so popular. 

“Madame Bezaudun is a delightful old lady,” observed 
my vis-a-vis. “She makes one feel so much at home.” 

“I corro'borate every word you say,” I answered, “but 
you were about to make a suggestion, I believe ?” 

I spoke in eager tones, for I had a vague feeling that 
the little milliner had at last been inspired. 

“Since the tragedy which took place in the bridal 
chamber is a mystery to this day,” she resumed, “why not 


AT MILNEBURG. 


17 


call the novel — ” 

She stopped short, in that exasperating way some people 
have when they think they have reached a climax. 

‘^Go on Mile. Titine,” I said, controlling my impa- 
tience. 

“I know you will laugh at me, but I don’t mind it. Why 
not call it 'The Haunted Bridal Chamherf 

I arose and took her hands in mine, to Madame Bezau- 
dun’s unfeigned look of astonishment at such an out- 
break. 

“This is an inspiration. Mile. Titine. It is an ideal 
name. I shall certainly use it.” 

And I did. 


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* - THE =^ = ' 

HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


A ROMANCE OF OLD-TIME 
NEW ORLEANS. 


CHAPTER I. 

MADEMOlSEivLE TITINE, MILEJNER. 

Anyone in New Orleans can point out to you Mile 
Titine’s millinery establislinient, “the little shop in the 
big building, ” which does quite an extensive business in 
the same stuffy quarters where its original founder, Madame 
Zulette, ’’from Rue de Chabanaix, Paris,” located it in 
1884, at the time of the great North, Central and South 
American Exposition, which attracted to Louisiana visitors 
from every corner of the globe; and when Madame Zulette 
returned to her beloved P'rance fifteen 3'’ears later, rich and 
happily re-married. Mile. Titine, her forewoman, took 


22 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAE CHAMBER. 


charge of the business. And on the plate-glass show-win- 
dow, a modern inspiration of the present occupant of the 
quaint llitte shop, is emblazoned the following announce- 
ment, always kept scrupulously burnished: 



. : MADAME zueette, : 

: Modiste. \ 

: MLLE TITINE, Suc’r. : 


It is a queer house, massivel}^ built, with sharp-point- 
ed gables and mouldy-looking brick walls, cemented over 
with a kind of yellowish-brown composition, a combination 
of stucco and mortar, which has crumbled away at the 
sharp angles of the walls, revealing the red, porous brick 
underneath. 

The modern plate-glass window takes up the whole 
front of the building, and is strangely in contrast with the* 
antique facade and dilapidated walls. The little shop 
never fails to attract the attention of strangers on 
sight-seeing bent. In fact, the building has a national, 
if not world -wide, reputation for oddity and the grotesque 
mingling of ancient architecture and up-to-date inno- 
vations. Mardi-Gras visitors and tourists invariably 
ask to be shown “tiielast century house with the big 
plate- glass window.” 

The owner of the building has long since died. He left 
no will and no heirs, and his estate passed into the owner- 
ship of the State, The building being too old and dilapi- 
dated, and requiring too extensive repairs to render it 


MLLK. TITINE, MILLINER. 


23 


habitable, with the exception ot the two rooms parallel 
with Conti Street, no attempt has ever been made to reha- 
bilitate the exterior. 

The reason why the corner room can still be used, is 
that the location charmed Madame Zulette when she look- 
ed about for a suitable site for her milinery shop, being 
central and within easy-walking distance from Boulevard 
Canal. She rented the two rooms for a mere pittance, 
clearing them of the accumulated rubbish of years, and 
throwing the debris into the adjoining rooms, without even 
investigating their contents or expressing a desire to go 
through the house. And for years and years no one had 
been through the abandoned rooms. 

Madame Zulette had been warned that the house was 
haunted — that in the room overlooking the garden, a fear- 
ful tragedy had been enacted more than fifty years before; 
that strange noises and moans could be heard every time 
the Cathedral bells chimed the solemn hour of midnight, 
and that the ghost of a beautiful girl, with long, streaming 
yellow hair, roamed through the echoing rooms every 
night. But as no one had ever remained overnight in the 
old premises, and as a vacant lot separated the building 
fiom the adjoining property, the rumor had never been 
substantiated. That the house was haunted, no one doubted. 

The occupants of the millinery shop did not have time 
to worry about ghosts. Madame Zulette was an exacting 
taskmaster and after the da3'’s work was over, the girls 
were only too glad to go home to supper and rest. And the 
Madame would carefully lock the front door and seek her 


24 


THE HAUNTED Bf^IDAE CHAMBER, 


vine-clad cottage in the Faubourg Marigny, where she 
would spend the balance, of the evening in devising new 
styles in bonnets, hats and capes for her haughty clientele. 

Ghosts ? Zut! If there were such things, she had no 
inclination to bother her mind about them. They never 
molested the hats aud fabrics in her shop and she did not 
care what orgies they indulged in while she was away. 

Why the municipal authorities have not torn down 
the old structure, is one of those mysteries which the 
logician is at a loss to explain. The location is central and 
important, in the heart of the retail district. If the ancient 
pile was razed, the two lots on which it stands would no 
donbtfind a ready sale. Perhaps it is permitted to remain 
because it is one of the few links between the romantic 
past and the iconoclastic present, and adds to the prestige 
of New Orleans as one of the most picturesque spots on the 
American Continent. 

Mile. Titine does not care to spend her own money on 
improvements, but she feels that she must be abreast of 
the times and not allow her rival, the impudent American 
across the way, who moved there only three ^-ears ago, and 
who has two Jiuge plate-glass show-windows, one on each 
side of the door, to totally eclipse her. So she had the big 
window put in, and is serenely happy. And fashionable 
New Orleans, knowing that no one can make such chic 
bonnets and trim hats in such a fetchy way as Mile. Titine, 
disdainfully ignores the gorgeous establishment opposite, 
and the little Parisian’s bank account continues to grow 
larger day by day. .But Mile. Titine does not care very 


MLLE. TITINE, MILLINER. 


25 


much for money for present needs. Her ruling ambition 
is to put aside a sufficient sum to enable her to retire from 
active business when the years bend her supple form and 
dim her lustrous eyes; but as she is not 3^et thirty, the 
fastidious devotees of fashion need not feel alarmed. 

Industrious Mile. Titine ! She has been in the milli- 
nery business ever since she was ten years old, when she 
used to carry hat-boxes to Madame Zulette’s daint}^ Paris- 
ian clientele, and one can certainly pardon her for wishing 
to spend the declining years of her existence in rest and 
comfort amid her flowers and pets. 

It is currently reported that the thrifty milliner has had 
twenty-seven actual offers of marriage, some of her suitors 
being real aristocrats, with the bluest of blue blood and 
unblemished ancestry; but having that disdain for men 
which is inherent in women who have made their own way 
in the world, she has elected to remain a vielle ftlle. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE secret of the old WALlv. 

I became acquainted with Madame Zulette in the 
Spring of 1888, while making extensive researches to write 
up the history of the old buildings of New Orleans for 
a local newspaper. In answer to my question as to the 
antiquity of the colonial edifice in which she carried on 
business, she said: 

“Do you know that in the same room in which I work 
every day, hats were made and elegant toilettes fashioned 
while Napoleon was conquering the world?” 

“ I thought the business was started by you in 1884?’ 

“ The present house was founded by me, but years ago, 
before you, your father, and probably what we now call 
old men, were born, the fashionable world of New Orleans 
used to come here, just as the present leaders of fashion 
do, and buy the dainty laee bonnets with which the 
beautiful Creole belles of that time adorned their per- 
sons. Step outside and I will show 3^ou something 
which, no doubt, uo one of the present generation has 
ever noticed.” 

Madame Zulette led the way through the narrow 


THE SECRET OF THE OLD WALL. 


2/ 


door- way. She stopped when she reached the sidewalk 
and looked up the time-stained facade. 

” Do yon see anything over the door ?•' she asked. 

I craned my neck and closely scrutinized the spot. 
No, “ I answered. “ It seems a trifle darker than the 
stucco. It is no doubt dirt.” 

’’Don’t yon see letters.^” 

” Letters ?“ I queried, wonderingly. 

” Yes; look carefully. Wait: I’ll get a step-ladder.“ 
She went back into the little shop and immediately 
returned with a small extension ladder, whieh she placed 
against the wall. 

” Get on top of the ladder and examine the spot 
carefully,” said Madame Znlette. “I made the discovery 
while showing the scrub-woman how^ to clean the old wall 
the other day. Yon needn’t fear. I’ll hold the ladder. “ 

By this time, three or four persons had stopped 
in front of the litttle shop, attracted by Madame Zu- 
lette’s animated gesticulations and my attentive scrutiny 
of the building. It takes .so little to draw a crowd in a 
busy thoroughfare. In my enthusiasm, I had lost 
sight of the fact that I was in public; but when I look- 
ed back and saw the gapnig audience, I felt that the 
situation was getting ridiculous. But I could not 
retreat. Madame Zulette had been so graciously obliging 
and so .solicitous to give me all the information within 
her powder, that I conld not offend her by refusing to 
comply with her request. So I climbed upon the ladder 
and she held both its sides with her chubby hands, so 


28 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


I would not fall. When I reached the top, what appeared 
from the sidewalk to be mere daubs on the dingy surface 
of the wall, gradually took the shape of letters almost 
a foot long and I faintly, but distinctly made out the 
following words : 

VACHOlSfETTE, MODISTE. 

Simple, commonplace words, 3"et what a flood of 
thougt they caused to surge through my mind. In my 
excitement, I had climbed to the topmost rung of 
the ladder and peered eagerly at the inscription. Visions 
of beautiful women, with powdered hair and crinolines, 
passing in and out of the little shop : gaudily-liveried 
lacke^^s, standing straight as arrows in front of brilliant 
equipages; gallants in knee-breeches, silver buckles, 
velvet coats and frills, bowing to their fair lady-loves; — 
and thousands of other thoughts of an age made glorious by 
song and story, made me forget my prosaic surroundings. 

How long I would have remained in contemplation 
and meditation on the topmost rung of the ladder, is a 
matter of debatable conjecture. I was presently called 
back to the world by a discordant nasal voice sa3dng : 

“ Say, mister, is the house on fire.'*’‘ 

I hastily descended from my perch. Turning to the 
spectators, which now numbered about fifty, I testily said: 

“ No, it’s not a fire, a murder, nor a bankrupt sale. I 
am sinipE^ examining the old rookery before putting in a 
bid for painting. That is all, gentlemen. Why in blazes 
don’t you go about your business ? ” 

The disappointed crowd quickly dispersed. 


THE SECRET OF THE OLD WALL. 


29 


I carried the ladder inside for Madame Zulette. 

“ Well, what do you think aboutit?” sheasked. Then, 
woman-like, before I had time to answer : “I know the 
liistory of this old building, monsieur. I got it from an 
ex-slave of the original owners of the old ruin. I am too 
busy to talk now, but come to 1113’- house in the Faubourg 
IMarigny Sunda\’, after High Mass, and I will tell you all 
I know. You must now excuse me , monsieur' Safis 
} a 7 ich 7 ie, n'est-ce pas ? ’ ’ 

She sniilingl3' held out her hand. I cordiall3’ shook 
it and went out into the bnsy street. ^ 

The following Sunday, I called on Madame Zulette 
and she told me the history of the gloomy old colonial 
mansion, whose time-beaten walls are slowly, bnt surel3% 
crnnibling to pieces and which must soon feel the hand of 
the iconoclast and be numberd among the things that 
were, like eveiything else put up by the hand of man. 

The story of this ancestral home is a strange and 
fascinating one. It tells of the misspent life of its 
last owner, Lncien Dumont, the wayward scion of a 
family renowned in the early history of Louisiana for 
the mental gifts of its men and the beauty and 
intellectual endownments of its women. 

“Is the story true? ” I hear some curious little maiden 
ask. I believe it is. I took down copious notes when 
it was narrated to me and have reproduced iu the 
chapters which follow a fafthful recital of what Madame 
Zulette told me. 


CHAPTER III 


IvUClEN DUMONT, ARTIST. 

viens diner!" 

Lucieti Dumont, artist and dreamer and easy-going 
man of the world, put aside his brush with a sigh 
of relief. 

^'■Tout de suite, mon ange" 

He locked the door of his studio aud descended to 
his room, where, after making a hasty toilette, he went 
down to the dining-room, where he found his sister 
Blanche waiting his coming before beginning the meak 
The voice which had called Lucien down to dinner 
was his sister’s. She knew from long experience that 
he would not pay the slightest attention to bells or 
verbal summons through servants. So long as she 
would not come to the foot of the stairs leading to his 
studio and call him, he would not budge. Every day it 
was the same thing and she had grown so accustomed to 
the task, that she had come to look upon it as part^ of the 
programme of her uneventful life- And when her bosom 
friend and old class-mate, Madeline de St. Croix, some- 
times jestingly remonstrated with her for this special 


IvUCIEN DUMONT, ARTIST. 31 

weakness, she would naively .say : 

“ Every man of talent has a hobb3^ Lncien is a genius 
and I humor him. ” 

And Madeline, who secretly loved the young artist, 
would shrug her shapely' shoulders and remain silent. 

The brother and sister lived alone with their slaves 
in the big, rambling house which had been built by an 
ancestor in the middle of the eighthteenth century . It 
was constructed after the plan of the flats of Paris, though 
not so lofty — two stories and a high attic, with immense 
dormer windows in the front and rear ; a wide hall run- 
ning through the whole length of the second story, with 
large, high-ceiled rooms on each side. On the ground 
floor, was a massive porch, flanked on both sides by long, 
narrow rooms, which were occupied by funnj" little shops, 
repre.senting almost ever\' branch of trade of this primitive 
period. There were Caton et Moumounne, coiffeurs, who 
occupied the room next to the porch, towards St. Louis 
vStreet : Joublanc et Qneunard, confectioners, whose pies 
and pates-feJiilletees were the delight of the epicure: Etienne 
D’Andans, dealer in dry goods and costly laces. As you 
passed the porch, towards Conti Street, you would come 
upon three other shops — Karl Schrenschrang’s bookshop, 
with its musty volumes, nondescript bric-a-brac and 
antiquated curios; Melallah, Flafloosse et Niniche, import- 
ers of Oriental fabrics and commodities, whose smuggling 
operations were conveniently winked at by the authorities ; 
and at the corner, was the establishmentt of Madame Julie 
Vachonette, modiste a-la-mode, the Mecca of the fashionble 
world of the last century. 


12 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


Blanche Dumont’s room faced on busy Rue Royal and 
overlooked the garden of the estate, which at that time 
extended almost to St. Louis Street. Lucien’s room 
adjoined his sister’s. On the other side of the hall, were 
the grand double parlors, often the scene of brilliant social 
gatherings. In the rear, were the sleeping apartments 
ofTobelle, Blanche’s old nurse, and Labiche, Lncien’s 
body-servant. The attic had been appropriated by the 
artist for a studio. 

Lucien Dumont’s studio was the coziest nook imagin- 
able. Blanche had furnished it like a lady’s boudoir. It 
was flooded with light from the two dormer-windows, 
through which, when one looked towards the River, could 
be seen the shipping in port and the yellow waters rushing 
on to the Gulf; and at the other end, one could look over 
the roofs of the low-built houses and see the semi-country 
landscape gradually merge into the low, swampy deniense 
which stretched out in unbroken monotony to the shores 
of Lake Pontchartrain. 

There Lneien painted and dreamed of Madeline de 
St. Croix through the long hours of the day. Blanche 
would often come up to chat and criticize. At times, she 
would bring her work basket with her and, placing a chair 
near one of the lucarnes, would alternately knit and stop 
to chatter about current events, her new dresses, the poor 
she had visited, their grande souee, and other topics 
which, -even if they did not interest Lucien, he pretended 
to enjoy hugely. They were great comrades, this brother 
and sister, a fact which one day caused Mademoieslle de 
St. Croix to playfully remark as she observed them : 


LUCIEN DUMONT, ARTIST. 


33 


“ One would think you were sweethearts, instead 
of brother and sister.” 

Blanche smiled, arched her eye-brows and fixed her 
speaking eyes upon the young girl with such a mischievous 
expression, that she ran out of the room in great 
confusion, to hide her embarassment from Uucieu. Blanche, 
greatly amused, ran after her, calling her, expostulating, 
cajoling, 

“ Why, dear, I did not say a word,” she laughed. 

“ No: but the way you looked! You might just as 
well have said: ‘Don’t jmu wish you were in my 
place ?’ And right before that vain thing, too, whose big 
eyes see everything* I’ll never be able to face him again.” 
Then, bristling up : “Yes, giggle, giggle, giggle, you 
mean thing ! I’ll never speak to you again !” 

For answer, Blanche embraced her effusively and 
pushed her into her room, where she coaxed her as one 
does a petulant child. 

“You dear silly old goose,” she said, caressingly. 
“ Can’t you .see that Uucien adores you? I am only trying 
to smooth matters over for you both. Oh, but this Is an 
ungrateful world.” 

And Madeline, overjoyed to have such a powerful ally, 
threw her arms around her friend’s neck and the angel 
of peace once more reigned over their little world* 

One by one the Dumonts had passed away, until the 


34 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER 


race was almost, extnict Lucien being the last descendant 
in the male line. 

“I am the last of the Dumonts,” he woud answer, 
when his sister praised Madeline and advised him to make 
her his wife. “I will never marry. When I die, thename 
of Dnmont perishes. It is a name which the mutations 
of time have left unblemished and which I pray God no act 
of mine will ever tarnish.” 

Blanche would smile at this grandiloquent speech and 
bide her time, for her keen eyes had discovered that the 
young people loved each other and she felt certain that 
Mlle.de St. Croix wonld one day be her sister-in-law. 

Lucien Dumont was ten year solder than his sister. At 
the time this story begins^ he was thirty. He had already 
won fame, both at home and abroad, with his brush and 
palette. His pastoral scenes had been awarded gold medals 
at local art exhibitions, and he had been admitted to the 
Paris Salon before he was twenty-five. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A COMRDY OP CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

Being of a Bohemian disposition and consequently 
fond of roainiug about at all hours and in all places, 
Eucien had often met a pretty young girl while walking 
down Rue Royal to the Place d’Armes, invariably at the 
same time — eight o’clock in the morning. He had been 
attracted to the girl by her sweet face and modest demeanor 
and had woven quite a romance around her, wondering 
who she could be and where she could be going with such 
regularity every morning. She was always simply, yet 
neatly, dressed and wore hats which were neither new nor 
strikingly stylish : but the face beneath the hat was fresh, 
young and innocent, and Eucien was satisfied. She was 
evidently a working girl and he wondered where she could 
be employed. Of course he could easily have solved the 
problem by following the girl, for she was a brisk walker, 
and would not have suspected he was playing the detective; 
but such a course would have destroyed the charming ro- 
mance he had made up in his mind about her and he con- 
tented himself with walking behind her for a block or two 
and then suddenly turning into a by-street, lest he should 
see her reach her destination, thus giving him a tangible 
clue to her identity. 

One Sun^lay morning, Dumont'S romance came very 
near going to pieces, like a house of cards. 


36 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


It happened in a very commonplace manner. Lncfen 
and Blanche were on their way to early Mass at the Cathe- 
dral St. Louis, when, in turning into Rue de Chartres, the 
3'oung artist slightly collided with a lady. He courteously 
tipped his hat and apologized for his inattention. 

‘Tt is of no consequence, monsieur,” observed the 
object of his awkwardness. 

She bestowed upon him a gracious smile of forgiveness 
and his heart gave a great bound -it was his heroine, the 
little blonde he had met every week-day morning for the- 
past six months. She was resplendent in her Sunday 
toggery and looked divinely pretty. 

Just then, Blanche, who had heretofore been deeply" 
engrossed in studying the structural intricacies of a gor 
geous chef d' oeuvre of the milliner’s art poised on the head 
of a lady in front of them, turned around just in time to 
see Lncien’s bow and the girhs engaging smile. 

“Why, I didn’t know you were acquainted with little 
Lolotte?^^ she remarked. In surprise. 

“Lolotte?” repeated Lucien “I don’t know anybody 
by that name.”^ 

“Then why did you bow to her?” 

“I did not bow to anyone.” 

“But I saw you, and she smiled very pleasantly too 
How long have you known her, monsieur? I thought you 
had no' secrets forme?” 


A COMEDY OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 


37 


She always called him “monsieur” when she was 
displeased with him. 

“ I am not hiding anything from you, my dear. I tell 
you that I don’t know any Lolottes; that I bowed to no 
one, and assure you that my whole life is an open book, 
speciall}^ gotten up and illustrated for my darling sister’s 
exclusive delectation ” 

Although really displeased, Blanche could not refrain 
from smiling. He was so ingenuous, that rogue of Lucien, 
But she would not let him escape, this time. The offense 
was too flagrant. He must explain or fall oiit with her. 

“You are a grand rascal, a hypocrite, an enjoleur"' she 
said, knitting her brows and trying to speak sternly, but 
unable to conceal her admiration. “I want you to distinctly 
understand, monsieur, that I will not let you pull the wool 
ovei my eyes, this time. I have been your dupe long 
enough. Keep your sophistries for Mademoiselle de St. 
Croix.” Then, coaxingly: “Tell me, Lucien, where did 
you meet Lolotte?” 

“I have never met her, don’t want to meet her, and 
hope I never will,” answered Lucien, dejectedly. 

He felt ill at ease under his sister’s earnest scrutiny. 
He had a vague premonition that explanations would lead 
to embarrassing revelations. Blanche had the knack of 
generally getting what she wanted out of him, either by 
catechising him or b}' persistent pouting, and he would 
have to confess all about his roamings and shadowings 
when he encountered the little blonde. He had a horror 
of being thought ridiculous. Blanche would laugh at him, 


38 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


call him a goose, tantalize him, and would ever after- 
ward have a formidable weapon to fall back upon whenever 
she would want any special favors from him. He resolved 
to deny everything. 

They had now reached Rue St. Pierre, half a block 
from the Cathedral. 

Blanche renewed the attack. 

“Don’t be a goose,” she said. “I saw you bow; I saw 
the girl smile as she has never done before, and am sure 
there is a good understanding between you two. Confess, 
now, like a good fellow?” 

“I have nothing to confess,” answered the artist, 
doggedly. 

They were at the church door. Lucien gave a sigh 
of relief. 

“Have it your way, you surly bear,“ said Blanche, in 
tones of deep reproach; ’’but after Mass is over” — and she 
gave a significant toss of her dainty head and Lucien knew 
she had not surrendered, but would renew hostilities at the 
first opportunity. 

“Let us take a seat in one of the side aisles,” said 
Lucien. “ See, our pew is full.” 

Blanche looked in the direction of the pew and saw 
there were already four persons in it. 

“I forgot to lock it last evening,” she explained. “It is 
annoying, but it would be so rude to put those people out” 

Fate was evidently playing ducks and drakes with 
Lucien that morning. No sooner had he said his prayers 
and seated himself comfortably in the pew% waiting for the 


A COMEDY OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE- 39 


services to begin, than Blanche leaned over and \vhispe:cd 
to him; 

“Don’t make out you haven’t seen her. I understand 
now why you did not take a seat in the main aisle.” And 
then she' added, convincingly: “You certainly bowed 
to her this morning.” 

She turned her attention to her prayer book. Lucien 
loDked about the church with feelings of nervous trepida- 
tion. Blanche was evidently watching him from the corner 
of her eye, for she again leaned over and whispered: 

“She is in the second pew in front. You know it, you 
hypocrite.” 

Dumont looked. Sure enough, in the second pew in 
front of them, demurely knelt the innocent cause of his 
predicament. The chain of circumstantial evidence against 
him was certainly overwhelming. 

Lucien was neither an attentive nor a devout worship- 
per that morning. Blanche afterwards told him that he 
had read the Credo for the Gospel, had held his book upside 
down during the Gloria and that she had to nudge him 
several times before he knelt at the Elevation. But the 
writer does not vouch for this. Blanche was such a great 
tease, that it was probably a mere imaginative' accusation, 
prompted by a desire for malicious vengeance. 

To Lucien’s intense relief, Blanche rose to go imme- 
diately after the services were over. 

“Now, monsieur, you must confess,” she said, when 
they reached the street. “I will take no excuse.” 

Lucien preserved a gloomy silence. 


40 


THE HAUNTED BRIDx^E CHAMBER. 


“My beloved brother is neither amiable nor coinniiini- 
cative,” resumed Blanche: “ but he must confess. When 
how, and where did you meet Lololte ? ” 

“ Never, in no manner, and at no place.” 

“Then why did you bow to her?” 

“I did not.” 

“ But you did. I sa w you with my own eyes.” 

“It was an opl-ical illusion.” 

He was laughing now, amused by her earnestness. 

“ It must have been a pre-arranged illusion, for she 
played her role to perfection,” said Blanche, with biting 
sarcasm. “And I who thought Eolotte a little saint, with 
her baby face and bashfulness ! ” 

Dumont’s chivalrous nature was aroused. 

“You are uncharitable, Blanche,” he said, reprovingly. 

“It is your fault, monsieur.” 

He flushed, but said nothing. With a woman’s quick 
intuition, she saw his weak point and took advantage of it. 

“A gentleman should so shape his conduct,” she said, 
icily, “that his lady friends should be above criticism.” 

Lucien felt he was lost. He knew he would never have 
a moment’s peace until he pacified his sister He was 
about to explain everything, when the little blonde passed 
by, in her usual brisk and hurried manner. He glanced at 
the apparition. The apparition looked in his direction. 

“Bonjoui !” he heard the rosy lips murmur. 

Blanche nodded and Eucien mechanically tipped his 
hat. It was all over in a second. The apparition vanished 
around the corner, leaving the artist mystified and bewil- 


A COMEDY OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDICNCE. 41 


dered. He glanced at liis sister. Her face was beaming 
with triumphant satisfaction. 

” I thought you did not know Lolotte.^” she said, 
tauntingly. 

Lucien made no reply. He was utterly crushed. He 
kept his eyes riveted to the ground and they walked home 
in silence. 

To Lncien’s astonishment, Blanche did not renew the 
attack. He could hardly believe his senses, for, whenever 
she wanted to know anything, she genarally persevered 
until she carried her point. And, strangest of all, she did 
not seem in the least displeased with him. At breakfast she 
helped him liberally to his favorite dishes and put an extra 
sMco. oi pain perdu on his plate, knowing his fondness for 
the delicious sweetbread. Could he have read what was 
going on in his sister’s mind, he would no longer have 
been mystified. Women are a thousand times cleverer than 
men and when it comes to a duel of finesse and strategy, 
she can easily outwit the boasted lord of creation before he 
is aware of it. Lucien never for a moment imagined that 
his sister was planning to outgeneral him, scheming to 
discover what she thought was a great secret he was keep- 
ing from her. The only thing which occupied his thcughts 
was : Why had the girl said “Bonjour! ” as she passed by ? 
He had met her a hundred times before and she had seem- 
ingly never noticed him. 

In the afternoon, Lucien went to his sister’s room, 
as was his custom, to kiss her good-bye. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” she asked. 


42 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“Certainly not. Sunday is my day off, you know.” 

“ Where will you dine?” 

There was a tinge^of suspicion in her voice. 

“ At the St. Croixs.” 

“ To please Gaston de St. Croix or for the enchanting 
smiles of his sister?” 

“Neither: it’s just to get away from home cooking, 
that’s all.” 

“Didn’t you take dinner there last Sunday?” 

“Yes.” 

’’And Sunday before last?” 

•Yes.” 

^ “And probably fifty-two Sundays preceding? ” 

“Possibly, but not probably. Why this catechism?” 

“I was just thinking that for a man who does not in- 
tend to marry, you seem to be very fond of other peoples’ 
dinners; I was also thinking that if Mile, de St. Croix 
knew what I know, j'^ou would probably and possibly dine 
with someone else every Sunday hereafter. - Kiss your 
sister good-bye now.” 

And before he had time to say anything, she had 
pushed him in the hallway and closed and locked the door. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE advent of THE SERPENT. 

New Orleans, in the beginning of the last centurv 
was a miniature Paris in customs and morals, The spirit 
of Americanism was slow in asserting itself, the natural 
tendency of its people, inherited from the Eatin races of 
Europe, being antagonistic to modern ideas and innova- 
tions. Even more than half a century after the purchase 
of the Province of Louisiana by the United States, New 
Orleans was essentiall}^ French, still retaining the bub- 
bling frivolity, the love of pleasure and the chivalry of the 
followers of Bienville, Iberville and De Soto. 

The Carnival season of 1826 was at its height. It was 
five o’clock in the evening in care-free New Orleans. Shop- 
keepers were putting up their shutters and seeing that door 
fastenings were secure and windows properly bolted. For 
even at that early time, when the quaint town was hardly 
out of its swadling clothes, the gay season attracted to its 
hospitable doors the errant shop-lifter and burglar, and 
one could not be too careful. 

The life of the city moved on: the world of Vanity 
Fair, daintily dressed, returning home from shopping; 


44 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


tipsy men, noisy and insolent; Cadiens f^om Bayou Teclie ; 
women with bold eyes, gaudily gowned, and flirting right 
and left with sauntering gallants; gay cavaliers, with leer- 
ing faces, strutting arrogantly about, ready to do homage 
to every fair dame under the sun, Christian, pagan or bar- 
barian; hot-headed Creoles, alert for a quarrel, ready to 
slap a face or send a challenge at the slightest provocation; 
carriages rolling by; shouts, songs, curses. 

Lucien Dumont, artist and dreamer, eas3^-going man of 
the world and enthusiastic admirer of that glorious after- 
thought of the Creator, woman, stood with his back against 
a post at the corner of Canal and Bourbon streets, puffing 
a cigar and lazily watching the boisterous crowd. 

The sk}^ had been hidden b\^ dark, lowering clouds 
all da}\ No rain had fallen, but it -had been too dark to per- 
mit Dumont to work in his studio. So, as was his custom 
when not painting, he had gone out for a stroll about town, 
to loaf, smoke and ogle the pretty girls. 

Presently, an omnibus came lumbering by andsto pped 
at the corner to take a few passengers. 

“I might just as well go home,” thought Dumont. “ It 
must be dinner-time and Blanche will scold like blazes if I 
keep her waiting. I wish the little tyrant would get in the 
habit of taking dinner without me. I can picture her wait- 
ing at the top of the stairs for me, with her head cocked on 
one side and her finger held up threatingly, ready to 
pounce upon me like a tigrevSS. Talk about your hen-pecked 
husbands ! Why, they are in clover, compared with the ex- 
istence I lead. I think I’ll rebel and throw off the yoke. I’ll 


THE ADVENT OF THE SERPENT. 


45 


begin by not showing up for dinner today. 

But he proved his inconsistency by ingloriously climb- 
ing into the omnibus and taking the only vacant seat left. 
The driver was about to start, when a young girl signaled 
to him. 

“ I don’t think there is any room,” said the driver> 
surlily. “You had better take the next omnibus, miss.“ 

“ But I live in Bayou Road and the next omnibus only 
goes as far as the Cabildo,” protested the girl. “ It will 
be' half an hour before the Bayou Road omnibus 
starts. I am small and do not take up much room.“ 

Then she added, wearily: “I am so tired.” 

The dialogue had attracted the attention of the 
passengers and Dumont craned his neck to get a look 
at the new comer. In an instant he was on his feet, hat in 
hand. He had recognized the girl his sister called Eolotte. 

“ There is room, and plenty of it,” he said, cheerily. 
“ Take my seat, mademoiselle. I can sit on the roof. ” 

The young gill drew back. 

“ But, monsieur, I cannot permit it. It might rain 
and you would be drenched.” 

“I have an umbrella,” urged Eucien. “ I have but 
a short distance to go. — Allow me, mademoiselle.” 

He alighted from the vehicle and courteously made 
way for her to pass. She hesitated, but his smile was so 
engaging, so respectful, that she stepped in and took the 
proffered seat. Eucien was about to ascend to the 
roof, when she gently placed a detaining hand on 
his arm. 


46 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“Pardon, monsieur,” she said, tiinidl}’, “but there 
is a seat for you here. See,” and she edged away a 
little,’ “we are both slim and do not require much room.” 

Then, as if abashed by her boldness in thus addressing 
a total stranger, she blushed furiously and made matters 
worse by saying : 

“But you need not take the seat, if 5^011 prefer the roof, 
monsieur. ” 

Lucien looked at the space the slender finger had 
indicated, at the roof of the omnibus, at the sky, from 
which large rain-drops were now pattering down ; then, 
looking into the girl’s crimson face, said, in his softest 
tones ; 

“I thank you very much, mademoiselle. I will take 
the seat. ’ ’ 

He took care not to brush too close against her as he 
sat beside her. The driver, who had not dared to show his 
impatience — for the young men of that period had awful 
tempers — cracked his whip and the vehicle lumbered 
creakily away. 

Poor little Lolotte ! Like a frightened child, she kept 
down her eyes, not daring to look at the young man beside 
her. She was a poor w’orking-girl, more used to gruff 
treatment and reproaches than to courteous attention, and 
she could hardly understand why such a stylishly-dressed 
gentleman should treat her with such marked considera- 
tion. 

“ You look tired, little one. ” 

She started and her heart almost stopped beating. How 


THE ADVENT OF THE SERPENT. 


47 


musical liis voice sounded ! She looked up timorously and 
fixed her big, baby-like eyes upon his handsome face- 

“ 1 1 is the .same every evening, monsieur.” she said, 
simply, being reassured by the expression of friendly soli- 
citude in the face of the young cavalier. ”A poor girl has 
to work hard to keep the wolf from the door.” 

Eucien looked at the faded calico dress and the shabby- 
old-fashioned hat, and a feeling of genuine compassion took 
possession of him. 

“ Do yon have to work verj^ hard?^“ he asked. 

“ Not so very hard, monsieur : but it is so wearisome 
to be shut up all da}' in a musty room from eight in the 
morning till five in the evening, with never a chance to 
go out into the sunshine and see the busy world. I am 
not the only one, monsieur. It is the life-story of millions 
of wage-earners in this great world of ours.” 

Dumont kept looking at the girl as she rattled off her 
philosophic little speech. How droll she was, this .slip 
of humanity, hardly more than a child. She talked to him 
without restraint, as one would to a big brother or to one’s 
father-confessor. She was decidedly charming and the 
adventure was getting more interesting every minute. 

“ Where do you work, little one ? ” 

“ I trim bonnets and make capes for Madame 
Vachonette, the grande modiste she naively answer- 
ed. ” Do you know her, monsieur? ” 

Madame Vachonette? Why, she was a tenant of his 


48 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


and kept the millinery shop in the ground-floor corner- 
room of his ancestral home ; but he took good care not 
to impart this information to his companion. 

“ No,” he answered, amused at the oddity of the 
question. “ I never have occasion to have my hats 
trimmed, you know ; and I don’t wear capes.” 

* She smiled at the pleasantry and was about to reply, 
when the omnibus came to a sudden stop and a young 
man dressed in the garb of a laborer, who was seated on the 
roof, leaned over the side of the vehicle and cried out ; 

“ Your corner, Mam’zelle Lolotte.” 

The girl immediately arose. 

“ It’s a good thing that Pierre was there,” she 
observed, gaily. “ I had completely forgotten that I was 
nearing home. Adieu, monsieur — and many thanks.” 

She made a curtsy which would have done honor to 
a marchioness. But Lucien was as quick as she. In a 
minute he had alighted from the omnibus and stood 
waiting with open umbrella at the door. 

“ It is raining and 3’ou have no umbrella,” he observ- 
ed. “ Let me escort you to your door.” 

Like one in a dream, she took his proffered arm, and 
they trudged through the rain in silence. When they 
reached the girl’s home, Lucien noticed a man slouch by, 
stop irresolutely, then veer suddenly around and disap- 
pear in the gathering darkness. Instinctively, Lucien 
placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The girl saw 
the hostile demonstration and laughingly said : 


THE ADVENT OF THE SERPENT. 


“ Don’t be alarmed, monsieur. It’s only Pierre ” 

“ Pierre ? ” interrogated Lucien. “ And who is Pierre ? 
He comes and goes like a Will-’o-the-Wisp.” 

The girl lowered her eyes. 

“He is my fiance,” she replied. ” We are to be 
married in the fall.” Then she added, joyously: “And 
he will take me away from that stuffy old shop and he 
says I won’t have to work any more after we are niarried- 
Pierre is a fine workman. He expects to be made foreman 
next month. Oh, but it will be grand — not a thing to do 
all day but the house work and play the grande dame.^<^ 
Then, recollecting herself : “ But I am keeping you in the 
rain. What a chatter- box you must think I am. — Adieu, 
monsieur.” 

She tendered him her hand. 

“ Not adieu, hwX. an fevoir,'' he said, closing the 
umbrella and handing it to her. “ Keep this until we 
meet again. It might rain in the morning.” 

She protested. 

“ But you — ” 

“ The rain has stopped. I am wet to the skin any- 
how. All the time you were talking, the weeping 
heavens were using the back of my neck for an outlet. I 
could not be wetter if I were to be dipped sixty- nine 
consecutive times in the Mississippi River.” 

He was laughing and she thought him the most charm- 
ing man she had ever met. She could hardly believe she 


50 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


was not dreaming. He was like those knights of old 
she had read about in story-books and fairy tales.- To be 
amiable and jovial when wet to the skin, was beyond 
her comprehension. Pierre would have fumed and fussed 
and grumbled — 

“ Good-night, liitle one.” 

Her dream was at an end. 

“ Good-night,” monsieur.” 

He tipped his hat and was walking away, when he 
suddenly thought of his meeting with the little milliner 
that eventful Sunday morning. He retraced his steps. 

“We have met before, I believe ? ” he half-questioned. 

Lolotte looked at the speaker with sincere wonder. 

“ Not that I remember, monsieur. I never notice 
people in the street, unless I know they don’t mind a 
working-girl’s greeting. The world is cruel to the poor, 
monsieur. — What makes 3^011 think we have met before 
this evening 

Could she have forgotten ? Lucien’s vanity was 
piqued. No matter how free from conceit a man may 
be, he always feels assured that the woman he admire.s is 
forever’thinking about him. It is human nature the world 
over. 

“ Merely a fancy,” he answered, carelessly. “ I meet 
so many pretty girls, 3 011 know,“ he added, gallantly. 
“Good-night, little one. “ 

“ Good-night, monsieur. “ 


THE ADVENT OF THE vSERPENT. 


51 


He walked briskly awa}’. She stood on the 

steps, listening to his footfalls on the reverberating 
plank-walk ; and as they gradiiall}* died away in the 
distance, mingling with the noises of the night, a 
strange feeling of loneliness overcame her. She felt like 
calling him back to hear him speak to her once more ; he 
was so interesting, so entertaining, so chivalrous. And 
even when her thoughtlessness had been the cause of his 
being drenched while he walked like a hero in the rain 
and slush, he had never for a moment shown the slightest 
displeasure. On the contrary, he seemed to think it 
was a good joke on him. Suppose he would catch 
pneumonia and die ? At this dire thought, tears came to 
her eyes and she silently entered her home, wondering 
why she felt so strange and weak, why her heart throbbed 
so fast and loud. 


CHAPTER VI. 


SWEET reveries. 

For the first time, Lolotte found her home eheerless and 
bare. Strange that she had not noticed before how shabby 
the parlor furniture looked, with its horse-hair covering 
eaten away in a hundred places, and the fringes hanging 
down almost to the floor, like enormous cobwebs. And the 
unpainted pine table in the next room --wdiere her big four- 
posted bed was and which served the double purpose of 
dining-room and sleeping apartment — how ungainly, how 
shockingly repulsive it looked. 

“ Lolotte, is that you ? ” 

It was her mother’s voice, coming from the third and 
last room of the cottage, where the meals of mother and 
daughter were daily prepared and cooked over a charcoal 
furnace, which served for both stove and fire-place. 

“ Yes, mother, it is I.” 

She stepped into the room. 

“ In bed already? You are not ill, petite meret ” 

She kissed her mother on both cheeks and smoothed 
down the straggling grey hair. 

“ No ; only tired. I washed all the clothes and scrubbed 


SWEET REVERIES. 


53 


the parlor and your room and ripped your last year’s brown 
dress, to make it over. It will look like a new dress.” 

" Pauv')' e petite inere V said Lolotte, putting her arms 
affectionately around her neck. “ This is too much in one 
day. You must indeed be tired.” 

‘•You will find your supper on the table. The coffee is 
by the fire, but you’ll have to warm the meat. — Pierre is 
late to-night.” 

■ . Pierre ? Oh, yes. She had forgotten all about him. Why 
had he not come in, as was his custom? He was no doubt 
up to some trick and was probably hiding in the parlor or 
in the shadow of the porch, whence he would suddenly 
come out to give her a good scare. This was his favorite 
joke, which he repeated three or four times a week and she 
was quite used to it — - but she would invariably make out 
she was terrribly frightened and run away screaming, to the 
consternation of her mother, who could never accustom 
herself to the humoristic pranks of her future son-in-law. 

Lolotte went to the parlor door and looked in. 

“ Pierre, you big baby, come out. I know you’re hiding 
behind the sofa.” 

> No answer. She looked behind every piece of furniture! 
no Pierre. She opened the door and peered into the street. 
Nothing save complete darkness and the noise of the rain- 
water dripping from the roof. 

“I wonder where he is ? I’ll leave the door unlocked.” 

She closed the door and went back into her mother’s 
room. The poor soul was sound asleep. 

“ Pativre petste mereP she said, kissing her lightly on 


54 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


the forehead. “You have only a few months of hard work 
now. When Pierre and I are married, you will be queen 
of our little home.” 

She took the steaming coffee-pot and brought it to 
her room, where she poured its contents into her cup — a 
big, unwieldy piece of crockery, a present from Pierre, with 
“ Forget me not” written in German text upon its sides 
and which she had to hold with both hands when filled to 
the brim. But it pleased Pierre to see her using it every 
day. and to please Pierre had been her heart’s desire since 
the day she had promised to marry him. 

She sat at the table and contemplated her frugal supper. 
There was a single slice of bread, not very thick, and of the 
baking of the preceding day, for her mother had been ailing 
of late and the doctor had ordered a tonic which had taken 
nearly all their ready cash ; there was also some Gruyere 
cheese anb a tiny veal cutlet, breaded and tempting, and 
the brim-full cup of coffee she had just poured out. But she 
did not eat. She rested her elbow on the table, leaned her 
cheek against the palm of her hand, and thonght over her 
adventure of the evening and the kindness and chivalrous 
courtesy of the handsome stranger. 

“ Perhaps he is a nobleman ?” she mused. “He carried 
a sword and was dressed in the height of fashion.” 

She thought how wonderful it was that such a high 
born gentleman should have troubled himself about the 
comfort of a poor,ill-dressed working-girl. And the omnibus 
was full of nice people, too, some of whom nodded to him in 
friendly greeting or shook his hand as they passed by. He 


SWEET REVERIES, 


55 


had said “You look tired, little one,” in a tone that was 
almost caressing, yet in such a respectful manner, that she 
never for a second thought of feeling offended. Poor little 
soul, she had never been spoken to with such sweetness 
and deference before, and the events of the evening seemed 
to her like a dream, like a page from a story-book, where 
the heroes are always gallant and the heroines happy and 
beautiful. She had forgotten her su Dper; forgotten that she 
was tired; that her arms were smarting from having tried 
to make a hat fit exactly as a capricious customer wanted; 
that her head was aching and her heart almost in despair at 
the scantiness of her wages, hardly sufficient to keep her- 
self decently dressed and buy the bare necessities of life 
for the household. She had forgotten all things — save the 
smiling face and hone3^ed words of th handsome stranger, 
whose kindness and attentions were beyond her compre- 
hension. 

There was a knock at the parlor door, but she did not 
hear it. A louder knock, then another, still louder; but her 
reverie was deep and entrancing and she was deaf to all 
worldly sounds. The door slowly opened and a head was 
cautiously thrust through the opening. The survey seemed 
to satisfy the owner of the head, for he stepped inside, softly 
closed the door and walked up to the table where the 3^oung 
girl was seated. And she, unconscious of his presence, sat 
like a statue — her elbow on the table, her cheek against 
the palm of her hand, her supper cold and untasted, think- 
ing of the hanbsome cavalier, of his gallantry, of the ra- 
diant ra^' of sunshine he had shed into her lonesome life. 


CHAPTER VII. 


DISCORD. 

“ Well, my fine lady, since you get yourself escorted 
home by aristocrats, you don’t welcome old friends an}^ 
more. ’ ’ 

It was Pierre’s voice. The entrancing dream came to 
a suddentermination. Lolotte started to her feet. 

“Oh, Pierre, how you frightened me ! How long have 
you been here ? I have been looking everywhere for 
3 ^ 011 .” 

' “ You couldn’t have looked very hard. I’ve been 

standing right here for over ten minutes.” 

Eolotte looked up in surprise. He had never spoken to 
her so gruffly before. Could he have been drinking ? 

“ What is the matter, Pierre ?” she said going close to 
him, so that she would detect the smell of liquor, if he had 
been drinking. “You are as surl3^ as a bear.” Then, play- 
fully : ’’Kiss your little Eolotte, 7 non cheri.^'‘ 

She held up her rosy lips to him, but he did not 
move. 

“ Who is that fellow who took 3-011 home tonight ?” he 
asked, surlily. 


DISCORD. 


57 


The girl fell into a chair and burst into a merry 
laugh. 

“ He is jealous-desperately,” she exclaimed, amused 
by his frowning and gloomy looks. “ And I who thought 
he had lost his job or that something terrible had 
happened.” 

She went to him and put her arms around his neck. 

“ You big, overgrown baby, ” she said, “don’t you 
know that your Lolotte cares only for you in this cranky 
old world ? ” 

Her pretty blonde curls brushed against his fat, red 
face ; but he did not stir. 

“ Who is that fellow ? Can’t you answer ? ” . 

His voice was harsh and threatening, and so unlike 
the tone in which he generally addressed her, that she 
took her arms from around his neck and stood mutely 
looking at him. 

• ‘ Who is he, I say ? ’ ’ 

She drew back in alarm. 

“I — I don’t know, Pierre.” 

“ You lie,” he exclaimed, furiously. “ Didnt I see 
you talking and laughing with him in the omnibus ? You 
didn’t know I was seated by the driver and could see 
everything that was going on inside. You must take 
me for an idiot.” 

Lolotte gazed vacantly at her lover. She had never 
seen him in such a passion before and, being innocent 
of any wrongoing, the suddenness and vehemence of the 
scene Pierre was making appalled her. She was yet 


58 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


unlearned in the baser passions which beset humanity and 
was unaware of the momentous changes jealousy could 
work in the heart of man. She had yet to learn that it is 
a cancer which corrodes the purest hearts, embittering 
the mind, making liars, hypocrites and cowards of sin- 
cursed humanity. 

Lolotte’s silence angered Pierre still more. 

“ Do you refuse to tell me his nami;?” he said, ad- 
vancing threateningly. 

She retreated a few steps. 

‘ ‘ Pierre, I swear — ’ 

“ I don’t believe you,” he interrupted, fiercely. “ Pm 
no fool. You must tell me — ” 

He stopped short and his face became purple and 
white by turns. He had suddenly caught sight of the 
dainty silk umbrella leaning against the table. He took 
it in his hands and examined it. 

“ How did he come to forget this ? ” he asked. 

“He left it for me to use in case it rained in the 
morning,” faltered the girl, now really frightened. 

“Very kind of him. — And where is the umbrella 
I gave you ? ’ ’ 

“In the corner — there — ” 

And she pointed towards the armoir. 

“Is it not good enough for you ? ’ ’ 

“ Y — Yes, Pierre. Please don’t make a fuss and wake 
up mother. She is ill and worn out.” 

He did not seem to hear her, but sneerringly 
resumed : 


DISCORD. 


59 


“ But mine is cotton; his is silk. Mine has a common 
wooden handle; his has an elegantly-carved gold head. 
Of course, since mademoiselle has branched out among 
the swells, cotton umbrellas won’t do. But she won’t use 
this one, for here goes — ” 

He took hold of the umbrella between his hands and 
brought it down with tremendous force against his knee. 
The frail handle snapped as if it had been made of glass 
and the silk cover was pierced in a dozen places by the 
bent and twisted ribs. He threw the wreck in the middle 
of the room. 

“ To the devil with him and everything belonging to 
him ! ” he exclaimed, trembling with passion. 

“ Pierre-- Pierre ! — what have you done!” cried 
Lolotte, aghast at his outburst of fury. “ What shall I say 
to the gentleman when he calls for his umbrella?” 

“ So you expect him to call ? ” retorted Pierre, pac- 
ing up and down the room like a wild beast. “Just refer 
him to me. If he wants any indemnity, I’ll pay him — 
pay him with my fists, you hear? He maybe an aristo- 
crat, but I am of the people and I’ll spit on him as I would 
on a mangy cur. My father was a Sans Culottes and drank 
blood in cupfuls as it dripped frcm the guillottine and my 
creed is that all men are equal. Fine clothes and money 
do not make him my superior. The same God that made 
him made me: the same Hell that will hold me is good 
enough for him.” 

*‘Mon Dieu, Pierre, what is the matter with you? You 
have not been — drinking?” 


6o 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“No! I haven’t touched strong drinks since theday I be 
came engaged to you. I keep my word and don’t go about- 
fooling those who trust me and then make matters worse 
by lying. I don’t like that man, whoever he is. He does not 
mean any good by being attentive to a poor working-girl. 

I know them, these fine gentlemen.” He was calmer and 
continued, in a gentler tone: “ If I did not love you, I 
would not care a snap — but you are mine and I want no 
scoundrelly blue stocking to come between us. You are 
too young, too innocent to understand certain things. 
Tell me, little girl, who is that man ” 

His voice was low and coaxing. 

” I swear by the Holy Virgin I don’t know. ” 

He again became furious. 

“ You don’t know ? And you allow yourself to be seen 
home and talked to familiarly by people you don’t even 
know? I had a better opinion of you.” 

Her lip trembled and tears came to her eyes. 

“How mean you are,” she said, reproachfully. “I 
meant no harm. You know that since we were betrothed I 
have never paid even passing attention to any man.” 

“ 1 don’t know anything about that: I am not always 
by. When I am at work in the foundry, God knows what 
you do. — People don’t give expensive umbrellas for 
nothing ! ” 

It was a brutal speech — but he was a man of the 
people, unused to fine phrases, and bluntly spoke what he 
thought; but she, more refined, more used to the upper 
world, felt the full force of his insinuation. he threw 


DISCORD. 


6i 


herself upon the table and sobbed convulsivelJ^ 

A woman’s tears will win where everything else fails. 
It is inexplicable, but undeniable. They have made and 
unmade empires, caused revolutions, spurred men to deeds 
of heroism or to feats of foolhardy daring. Because a woman 
crfed, Anthony threw away a world; beccaus a woman’s 
eyes became misty with those silent messengers from 
a wounded heart, Leander swam the Helespont, Paris 
defied the valorous Greeks, Maximillian lost an empire 
and his life. There is only one way to meet a woman’s 
tears — unconditional surrender. 

Had Lolotte taken issue with Pierre, the quarrel would 
have continued with increasing bitterness and violence: 
but she adopted woman’s most formidable weapon — 
tears — and won. 

Pierre stopped short in his frenzied walk. 

“ Don’t — don’t, Lolotte ! ” he exclaimed, going to her 
and caressing her. “ I didn’c mean to hurt your feelings. 
I can’t explain why, but I don’t like that man and it gave 
me such a turn to see how you had allowed him such liber- 
ties. Of course you meant no harm, but it hurt me a 
heap.” 

She raised her limpid eyes to his face and said, 
reproachfully: 

“ If you had ouly waited and let me explain, we would 
have been spared this scene. I’m glad we didn’t wake- up 
motiier. Let me see if she is comfortable.” 


62 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 

She tip-toed as far as the door and peeped in. 

••Poor dear, she is fast asleep,” she said, coming 
back into the room. “ And now you must take a bite with 
me. We can eat and talk at the same time.” 

Pierre looked at the meager repast. 

“But there is hardly enough for you,” he 
protested. 

“ Oh, there’s plenty. There’s a great big cup of cafe- 
— I’ll cut my piece of bread in half, slice olf a 
bit of cheese and give yon a tiny portion of my cotelette. 
Why. it will be a banquet fit for a king 1 ’ ’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE promise. 

Pierre was not hungry, having eaten his supper at his 
boarding-house before coming to Lolotte’s: but he was 
afraid she would think he was still angry with her if he 
persisted in his declination. So he sat at the little 
oblong table and looked on while she warmed the coffee 
and meat and divided the bread and cheese into exactl}^ 
similar pieces. 

“ Eet us take some precautions,” observed Eolottte. 
“You know what a pig you are. We can’t afford another 
clean shirt this week.” 

She took a tow^el hanging from a nail in a corner 
near the washstand and tucked it under his chin, in lieu 
of napkin. 

Now,” she said, her knife poised high in the air and 
her fork tn the meat, “ you are my guest and have the 
choice: Shall I give you the bone and take the meat or 
take the meat and give you the bone?” 

“ It’s all the same to me,” replied Pierre, holding out 
his plate. “I’m only a little bit hungry.” 

She cut off the bone and put it in his plate, laughing 


64 the haunted bridae chamber. 

all the while. 

“ What are you giggling about ? ” asked Pierre, for he 
saw she was haviug fun at his^ expense. 

“ You two-legged goose,” she said, forgetting that no 
self-respecting goose had more than two legs, ” don’t you 
see it amounts to the same thing — You take the bone and 
I keep the meat, or I keep the meat and you take the 
bone ? You are bound to get the bone any way. — Don’t 
you see the point?” 

“ O, it’s a joke, then ? ” 

“Of course.” 

Then, seeing his look of profound perplexity : 

“ Don’t you undeistand ? It’s easy.” 

And she laboriously dissected the witticism. 

“ Do you see the point now ? ’’ 

’‘Yes — yes,” observed Pierre, w’ondering where the 
joke came in. Then, finally, his slow wit grasped the 
meaning and he burst into a loud guffaw. 

“ Haw, haw, haw ! ” he roared. “ It’s a great joke 

— the best I’ve heard for a long time. I’ll have to spring 
it on my land-lady. — Say it over, Lolotte, so I’ll learn 
it right.” 

She did so and he repeated the words after her, as a 
child does when learning its A. B. C.'s. 

They were both very gay during the humble 
meal. She told him all about her meeting wdth the 
handsome stranger, concealing nothing, even that he had 


THE PROMISE. 


65 

called her “ Little One” — an admission which made poor 
Pierre wince, but he said nothing, not wishing to‘ bring 
on another scene. The conversation then drifted to their 
plans for the future, when she would be his wife and would 
not have to work so hard to keep body and soul together. 

“ And when you are foreman of the shop,” asked 
Lolotte, “will they raise your wages?” 

,, Of course. I’ll get five dollars more a week.” 

“ When do you expect to be promoted ? ” 

“On the first of next month.” 

“And then yon can put aside that extra $5.00 a week, 
in addition to what you now save every week ? ” 

“Yes, easily. My expenses will be the same, you 
know.” 

She made a rapid mental calculation: 

“ Five dollars, more a week from the first week of 
next month to October, will make nearly one hundred 
and fifty dollars, in addition to what we have saved up 
already — ” 

“ You mean what I have up? ” interrupted Pierre, with 
mock-sarcasm. 

“ It’s the same thing; it is for both of us. — Guess 
how much we have now ? ’ ’ 

” Hanged if I know. I don’t keep tab on the money 
I give you to save. Take me for a book-keeper ? ” 

“Well, there’s exactly one hundred and twenty 
dollars. I counted the money last Sunday. We’ll have 


66 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


about five hundred dollars altogether. This will be quite 
a respectable sum for two pauvres diables to begin house- 
keeping.” 

Pierre mechanically looked at the clock. 

” Whew ! ” he exclaimed, reaching for his hat. 
“ Half.past nine ! Won’t Mamitte scold should she wake 
up and find me here ! ” 

He spoke in his old-time jovial way and kissed his 
sweetheart with customary tenderness. He walked as far 
as the door, stopped, hesitated and began nervously fumbling 
with his hat. With a woman’s quick perception, Lolotte 
half-guessed what was going on in his mind. 

“You want to ask me something,” she said, 
kindly. 

“Yes; but I am afraid to displease you.” 

“”h no — we are good friends now. What is it, 
Pierre?” 

His hat slipped from his restless hands and fell to 
the floor. He picked it up, put it on his head and staretd 
to open the door. 

“ No — never mind. We are friends now and it’s no 
use raking up old scores.” 

She placed a detaining hand on his arm. 

“ You 7nust tell me, Pierre. I won’t rest in peace if I 
know there’s something troubling you.” 

He cautiously closed the door and said, sheepishly; 

“ It’s for your own good, little girl, and our future 


THE PROMISE. 67 

happiness Promise me you’ll never speak to 

that man again.” 

She looked into his anxious face, then kissed him. 

“I promise, Pierre,” she said, simply. 

And she was sincere, for she really cared for her gruff 
lover, after the fashion of the people of her class. But the 
serpent had entered their Eden and the gleam of t^ig yellow 
eyes had underminep its innocent happiness. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE HYPOCRITE* 

Dumont tried to slip into the house without being seen 
by his sister, but she came to the head of the stairs as soon 
as she heard the noise made by the opening of the creaky 
hall door, and stood waiting for him as he came up the 
steps. 

“ How late you are, Lucien ! I thought some accident 
had happened to you. I have kept dinner waiting until the 
soup has simmered down to a few cupfulls and the meats 
are unfit to eat. — Where have you been, sir ? ” 

She tried to grasp him by the sleeve as he passed by, 
but he adroitly eluded her. She ran after him, indignant. 

“ Don’t touch me, Blanche ! ” he desperately exclaim- 
ed, for he knew he would be lost if she felt how wet he was. 

Blanche was dumbfounded. 

Eucien, come here this minute and explain your ex- 
traordinary conduct. Is that the way to greet your sister, 
who has been worrying herself sick about you and dying 
of hunger while waiting for you to put in an appearance ? ” 
Then, as if a sudden gleam of intelligence had enlightened 
her: “ I thought you had resigned from the Cercle des 


THE HYPOCRITE. 


69 


Saus Soiias ? You had promised to do so. ” 

The Lercle dcs Sans Soueis (Care Free Chib) was one of 
the exclusive social organizations of the period, the resort 
of men of wealth and leisure, who spent their time in 
gambling, drinking and carousing. To please his sister, 
Eucien had tendered his resignation and joined the Cercle 
dcs Artists (Artists’ Club), a more refined institution. 

“ No, I have not been dissipating, ” he hastened to say, 
reading his sister’s thoughts. “I lost my umbrella and got 
caught in the rain. I’m soaking wet and didn’t want to 
soil 3^our dress.” 

Blanche’s displeasure instanth^ vanished. 

“ You will catch your death of a cold,” she cried, in 
alarmed tones, going to him and feeling his clothes. “How 
in the world could you get so wet? Go at once to your room 
and put on dry clothes. I’ll ring for Labiche.” 

Glad of an opportunity to escape so easily, Eucien hur- 
ried to his room, where he was soon joined by Eabiche, his 
body servant. With the assistance of his valet, he was soon 
comfortably' clad in dry garments, and sought his sister 
with the feeling that he had' avoided both Scylla and 
Chary- bdis with the skill of an expert navigator. 

The tete-a-tete between brother and sister was as cordial 
as usual. They were both ravenously hungry and talked 
very little during the meal; but after the slaves had cleared 
the table and the young people were sipping their cafe-noir, 
Blanche remarked, half-questioningly : 

“ I can’t understand your Imprudence in risking 
yourself in such a rain. You deserve a good scolding. 


70 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


monsieur.” 

“ But I did not want to keep you waiting.” replied 
the hypocrite, “ I know how you worry when I am late.’ 

“You could easily have sent for the carriage. An}^ 
gamin would have taken your message for a few cents.” 

“ I never thought of it,” replied Lucieu. 

“ Bnt then ,you could also have taken the omnibus 
which passes right in front of our door ?” 

“ One only thinks of those things afterwards,” ventured 
Lucien, afraid to commit himself. Then he thought best to 
make some sort of explanation, and resumed; “You see, I 
was chatting at the Cercte des Xrtisis with Millistoon, Guo- 
neuille and Chainarre, and other harmless fellows, and nev- 
er noticed how rapidly time was flying. I esently looked 
at the clock and saw it was almost six. ‘Well, I must now 
leave this pleasant company,’ I said. ‘ We dine at six and 
my little sister will beat me black and blue if I am a second 
late.’ Millistoon nudged Guoneuille and laughed aloud. 

‘ His sister ! It’s a good one, eh Guoneuille ?’ And Guo- 
neuille poked Chainarre in the ribs and said: ‘ What do you 
think about it, Chainarre.^ ’ Chainarre put aside his pipe, 
and in that deliberate way he has of expressing himself, 
drawlingly replied: “It is my firm and unbiased opinion 
that it is someone else’s sister.’ They all roared and I 
escaped from that den of iniquity and came directly to my 
darling little Sis. — Give your prodigal brother a hug ! ” 

He affectionately took her in his arms and she never for 
a moment doubted the truthfulness of his explanation. 
She was very proud of her big brother and overlooked 


THE HYPOCRITE. 


71 


many of his failings, attributing them to eccentricity. “He 
is a genius,” she would argue; “he has to be dilferent from 
other men.” And he, sly h3’pocrite, knew her weak 
point was her fondness for him, and he alwa3’s managed to 
extricate himself from an3' predicament by the judicious use 
of what we call “blarney” in this prosaic age. The mythical 
conversation at the Cercle, was made up to demonstrate to 
her that, wherever he could be, she was always foremost in 
his thoughts. He adored his sister and would not have 
caused her pain for the world. He knew that if she were * 
told the truth about his flirtations and his carousals with 
Millistoon, (Tuoneuille and Chainarre, she would naturall3'^ ^ 
be horrified and unhappy. So, he adopted the plan of harm- 
less deceit which could possibly hurt no one and which 
assured his sister’s happiness. And, that evening, when 
Lncien left to go to the Cercle, Blanche never thought of 
asking him how it was that he had taken nearly an hour to 
reach home after leaving the club: and he, like a truthful 
and dutiful brother, neglected to inform her that he had 
passed right in front of their door in the very omnibus she 
had wondered he had not taken and had trudged home 
in the rain and through mire and slush from the limits of the 
City, where gentle Eolotte, the pretty shop girl, had her 
humble home. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE ABSINTHE DRINKERS. 

“ Ah, here conies Dumont! Another absinthe, Zozo.” 

And the speaker, Maxiine Millistoon, put down his 
glass and made an imperious sign to his companions. Two 
glasses filled with the pale-green liquor, which were about 
'to be conveyed to parched and expectant lips, were instant- 
ly placed back on the table. 

“ No, thank you; no more absinthe for me,” laughed 
Dumont. “ Bring afiagon of vermouth, Zozo.” Then, sink- 
ing his voice to a whisper; “ I've got to stop, boys. When 
I got home last night, I found a pink cat with green tail 
and flaming eyes sitting on my bed.” 

“ I don’t like to say it,” observed Millistoon, “but for 
he past three nights I have been escorted home by a 
two-headed rhinoceros and a white giraffe.” 

“Since we are exchanging veracious confidences,” put 
in Guoneuille, solemnly, “ I’ll confess that every night an 
elephant sits on my chest, blowing in my face through 
his trunk and vanish ng only at sunrise.” 

Chainarre looked successively at each of his compan- 
ions and laboriously drawled out: 


THE ABSINTHE DRINKERS. 


73 

“ These are merely the preliminary stages. I have been 
through all of them.” 

And while they sipped their liquor, he graphically 
recounted what he had gone through, to Guoneuille’s envy, 
Millistoon’s admiration and Dumont’s amusement. 

The young men were in a private room of Papa Fri- 
moose’s cafe, popularly known to this day as “The Old 
Absinthe House, ” one of the toniest and most frequented 
places of its kind in pleasure-loving New Orleans in the 
beginning of the last century. The revelers were Maxime 
Millistoon, Emile Guoneuille, Jules Chainarre and Lucien 
Dumont, high livers and “all around sports ” of that 
profligate period. They were habitues of the place, invaria- 
bly came together and were looked upon by Papa Frinioose 
as lineal descendants of Croesus, for they always called for 
the best and paid the score without hesitation or haggling, 

Millistoon presently readied for his glass. Finding it 
empty, he contemptuously flung it across the room 
and lustily cried out: 

“ Papa Frinioose — Papa Frinioose! Come here, 3*011 
licensed robber ! Do you think we never get thirsty ? ” 

And he thumped the table with his fist so vigorously, 
that the glasses rattled and the flagon of vermouth fell to 
the floor and was shattered into fragments. 

Papa Frinioose came running in, followed by zozo, the 
gar con. 

“ That is nothing, messieurs,” he exclaimed, point- 
ing to the scattered pieces of glass. “Zozo, come here 
immediately and take out this trash. — What can I do for 


74 


THF HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


the gallant gentlemeti ? ” 

And he howed and smirked and wiped the table with 
his napkin, while Zozo picked up and carried away the 
broken glass. Millistoon glared savagely at old Friinoose. 

“You vile decoctor of poisonous dregs,” he said, “what 
do you mean by letting us die of thirst ? Three absinthes 
and,” he added, facetiously, pointing to Dumont, “ask 
her ladyship what she wants. She has seceded.” 

“ Vermouth frappe,” said Lucien, laughing. 

“ And be lively about it or we’ll twist your villainous 
neck,” added Guoneuille, ominously. 

“Yes — Yes, my fine gentlemen. — Right away.” 

The old fellow almost ran to execute the order and 
returned in a few minutes with decanters and glasses. 

‘ ‘ Anything else I can do to please the noble cavaliers ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes,” replied Guoneuile; “ go to the devil.” 

“ An excellent idea,” put in Dumont. 

“ Nothing would please us better,” added Millistoon. 

“ What do you think about it, Chainarre? ” 

Chainarre took a long pull at his pipe, deliberately puff- 
ed the smoke in Papa Frimoose’s face and solemnly said: 

“ It is my firm and unprejudiced opinion that the old 
reprobate is an eye-sore to the immediate surroundings, 
and that the sooner he vanishes, the better will it be for our 
comfort and sanctity. — Messieurs, a votre saute ! ” 

And he drained his glass to the last drop and imme- 
diately began preparing another drink from the array of 
bottles in front of him. 

Papa Friinoose looked on smilingly and walked toward 


THE ABSINTHE DRINKERS. 75 

the wine-room, his head bobbing up and down, as if on 
springs. 

“What a jolly quartette ! ” he observed as if speaking 
to himself, but loud enough to be heard by the group. “ It 
does my old heart good to see such gaiety and innocent 
mirth. Would that all our young men were as gentlemanly 
and noble-hearted ! ” 

He cast a side-glance at the boon companions as he 
went out of the room, to see the effect of his eulogium; but 
the revelers were busy investigating and sampling the 
contents of the numerous bottles grouped about the table 
and had not even heard 


CHAPTER XL 


THE PLOT THAT FAILED . 

The Saturday following Lucien’s meeting with Lolotte 
near the St. Louis Cathedral, as he was about leaving for a 
noon-day stroll, Blanche met him in the hall and said: 

“ Would 3^011 mind doing me a small favor, Lucien? ’* 
The 3^oung artist smiled and said, knowingly: 

“ A box of gloves against a kiss that I guess ? ” 

“ You’ve lost already. You’ll never guess.” 

“ Easiest thing in the world — 3'ou want me to take 
3^ou to vespers this evening ? All right, Sis, it goes.” 

“You goose, there are no vespers on Saturdays.” 

“ Well, then, it’s a promenade on the levee ’ ’ 

“ After all those heavy rains ? No, thank you.” 

“ A visit to the poor of the parish to-morrow ? ” 

“We did so two weeks ago. Guess again.” 

*’! give up. What is it. Sis?” 

“ I want to make an errand boy of you.” 

“ A billet doLix to some future brother-in-law ? ” 

“Don’t talk .nonsense, Lucieu. You know we have both 
vowed never to marry. We must be the last of our race.” 
Poor girl ! She spoke heedlessly, to tease her brother. 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAE CHAMBER. 


17 

If she could have lifted the veil which conceals the future 
from mortal gaze, she would have seen how prophetic her 
words, so lightly uttered, were destined to be. 

“Well, what is it?” observed Lucien, “You’ve 
won. 

“ I want you to stop down stairs and tell Madame 
Vachonette not to forget to send my hat this evening. I 
want to wear it to church to-morrow. — Will you, dear ? ” 
Blanche had been planning this coup dc theatre lor 
almost a week and there was a look of triumphant expecta- 
tion in her beaming features as she intently watched her 
brother’s face. The shock was great and unexpected; but 
Lucieu had knocked about the world too long to be caught 
by his sister’s ingenuous strategy. His embarrassment was 
over in a second. He coolly smoothed out a crease in his 
gloves and pleasantly answered : 

All right. Sis. Anything else?” 

She thought she detected a slight flush in his averted 
face, but it was dark in the hallway and she was not 
certain. She felt disappointed, but gaily said; 

“ No, nothing ehse, dear — except mygloves.” 

Dumont walked down the stairs in a decidedly 
perturbed state of mind. 

“I wonder if she suspects anything?” he thought. 
“ It’s a confoundedly funny errand on which to send a 
man of my dignity, when the house is full of slaves, 
who spend their time watching the spiders spin their 


;8 THE PLOT THAT FAILED, 

webs' . ’ 

He stepped into the little shop and delivered his sister’s 
message to Madame Vachonette and walked out without 
even glancing in the direction of the little back parlor. He 
was afraid he would see Lolotte and betray himself. Yet, 
even if he had looked, he would not have seen her, for she 
had seen him enter the shop and had fled behind a portiere, 
trembling in every limb, as if a wild beast had suddenly 
appeared before her. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE TEMPTER. 

Saturday evening in crowded Canal Street. 

The minute hand of the big clock in front of Fronce et 
Freres’s jewelry store was slowly moving in the direction 
of XII. , while the hour hand seemed to have stopped for all 

eternity just before reaching V at least so thought 

Eucien Dumant, whose impatient scrutiny of the clock was 
becoming more eager every minute. At last, there was a 
whir of mechanism and 5 o’clock slowly pealed forth from 
the sonorous chimes and merchants, clerks and shop-girls 
began their daily rush for home and rest. It w’as a bewilder- 
ing sea of ever-changing faces, enough to puzzle the keenest 
eyes; but in that mass of faces, Lucien soon discerned one 
which sent the blood rushing through his veins with 
increased vitality and he darted through the jostling 
crowd. 

“Good evening, mademoiselle.” 

A pair of frightened blue eyes met his admiring gaze, 
but were instantly lowered to the ground. The little blonde 
head made a feeble nod and the girl tried to pass by. 

Eucien smilingly barred the way. 


8o 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“ I cannot permit you to run away like this,” he said, 
thinking she was hurrying to catch the omnibus. “lam 
going in your direction. If the omnibus is full, weTl 
take a carriage.” ' 

She had backed toward the wall and was leaning 
against it, trembling and powerless. The crowd surged by, 
heedless of the drama in real life being enacted in the 
busy street. 

“ You are ill, little one,” he said, kindly. 

“No — no!” she faltered. “I — I am on only tired, 
that’s all. It will be over in a minute.” 

“ Poor little one,” he said, compassionately. Then, no- 
ticing how pale and weak she was: “You are too ill to 
ride in the omnibus. Let me see you home.” 

He gently took hold of her arm. She had not the 
strength to resist and before she had realized what she was 
doing, she was seated beside the stranger in a carriage. 

“ Bayou Road and Trenie,” said Dumont to the driver. 

A few blocks before reaching its destination, the carriage 
was stopped in a narrow street by a blockade , caused by a 
fractious horse and stopped near the gutter’s edge. Lucien 
poked out his head to see what was the matter and a young, 
mechanic who was passing by, stopped suddenly, gazed 
fixedly at him and then, as if impelled by some resistless 
impulse, walked to the carriage and looked in. As his eyes 
met those of the shrinking girl inside, his face became livid 
and he tottered like a drunken man. Just then the carriage 
started to go, but the hot-headed young Creole jumped to 
his feet and shouted to the driver : 


THE TEMPTER. 


8i 


“ Stop instantly ! I never saw such brazen insolence^ 
I’ll teach that lout a lesson he’ll not forget in a hurry.” 

He was about to spring from the carriage, when 
Lolotte frantically grasped his arm. 

“ For God’s sake leave him alone !,” she cried, almost 
in his arms, in her eagerness to hold him back. “It’s 
Pierre, my fiance.” 

Ivucien gently pushed the girl from him and motioned 
to the driver to proceed. 

“ I forgive him for your sake, little one,” he said, in 
the soft tones he always used when addressing her. “ With 
all due respect to the gentleman, however, it strikes me 
that he has shockingly bad manners. He needs drastic 
lessons in etiquette.” 

The girl, now really ill, made no response. She knew 
that Pierre would never forgive her. He would believe that 
she had purposely lied to him the previous evening 
and would hate and despise her. 

“ Here we are, mademoiselle.” 

Eucien’s voice aroused her from her painful train of 
thoughts. He helped her to alight, then waited, hat in hand. 

Lolotte looked apprehensively down the street. 

“ Please go, monsieur,” she. pleaded. “If Pierre should 
come and find you here, he’ll make a terrible scene.” 

“This is a splendid argument to nduce me to re- 
main ” remarked Lucien, with suave sarcasm. ‘’ I am 
something of a volcano myself.” 

“But, monsieur, think of the scandal! You are too 
honorable to compromise an unprotected girl.” 


82 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


The appeal to his honor won. 

“All right, little one; I’ll obey. May I call to- 
morrow ?’ ’ 

“Yes — any time you wish. Please go, monsieur.” 

She pushed him into the carriage, then said, as an 
after-thought : 

“ Do not come tomorrow’. It is Pierre’s day. Come 
Monday evening. Go, now — quick.!” 

She stood on the steps and watched the carriage as it 
slowly disappeared from sight, thoughtful and sad, her heart 
filled with dread, her happiness forevermore clouded. 

And the serpent blinked his yellow eyes and hissed 
contentedly, delighted at the havoc he had wrought. 


CHAPTER Xin. 


Brother and Sister. 

’ ’ How do you like my new hat ? ’ ’ 

Lucien was standing in front of the mirror in his room 
engaged in the arduous task of fixing a wobbling tie, and 
saw the smiling face of his sister reflected in the glass.” 

“ Fine — fine,’, he answered, without turning his head. 

“ Eucien ! How can 5’ou say so without even looking 
at it.” 

“ I can see it in the glass. It’s beautiful.” 

By this time the rebellious cravat had been conquered 
and he turned around and faced his sister. 

“Why, Blanche, it’s a stunner. It is the prettiest 
hat you ever wore. Let me see how it looks in the back.” 

But she did not move. 

“ You are a bear — a brute, like all brothers,” she said, 
petulantl5\ 

“Why, what’s the matter now? It’s the grandest 
hat—” 

“ Hush, you hypocrite ! ” interrupted Blanche, indig- 
nantly. “ I wanted to test your powers of observation 
and put on my same old hat. I have caught you, Mr, 


84 the haunted BRIDAL CHAMBER. 
Fibber.” 

Lucien minutely scrutinized the headgear, 

“ It is your new hat, Sis. You are quizzing me.” 

“No; it is the same shabby, disreputable, out-of-date 
abomination I have been wearing for the past six weesk, 
waiting for that snail of modistes, Vachonette. to make me a 
new one. If any other modiste could fit me, I’d quit her.” 

“ Umph ! ” grunted Lncien.“ All hats look alike to me.” 

He saw a loop-hole of escape and added, fussily: “ If you 
want me to be dressed in time for Mass, skip out of here.” 

Blanche sat on the edge of the bed and said, decidedlj^: 

“ Not before I come to an understanding with you about 
something which has been on my mind for a wdiole wee>^.” 

Lucien sank into a fauteuille and gioaned aloud. 

“Always looking for trouble. What is it, Blanche.” 

“ It is about Lolotte.” 

Her eyes were mercilessly fixed upon his face. 

“ Lolotte.? ” he stammered, as red as a beet. 

“Yes, Lolotte — Madame Vachonette's pretty assistant. 
Monsieur blushes li/^e a school-girl when that name is 
mentioned. Explanations are now in order, monsieur. “ 

Lucien looked helplessly at his sister. She had caught 
him completely off his guard and he was at a loss what to 
say, being afraid to commit himself. His confusion proved 
his salvation. Taking his silence for a confession of guilt, 
Blanche said, her face wreathed in smiles: 

‘ Hoho, monsieur ! Your duplicity is now unmasked, I 
was not mistaken in maintaining that you had bowed to 
the girl ast Sunday. — Tell me, how long have you 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


85 


known Eolotte? “ 

Dumont felt overjo3^ed. So it was a false alarm, after 
all — Blanche knew nothing. It wss simply the same old 
story of the Sunday before and he felt safe. He had now 
regained his composure. Looking up, he said, carelessly: 

“ Did’nt I tell you Sunday I did not know the girl ? “ 
“You did have the impudence to say so, monsieur. “ 

“ Of course you do not believe me ? “ 

“It is a waste of breath to ask . ‘ ‘ 

“Were I to swear on my honor, would you believe me? ” 

“ Yes,“ she answered, without hesitation. “But 3^011 
cannot and will not. It would be unwortln’’ of a Dumont.” 

Eucien inwardly chuckled. The battle was almost won- 
He could safely swear that he did 7 iot know the girl, leav- 
ing after-events uneonfessed. 

“ I give you my word of honor I did not know who 
Eolotte was until you told me. Do you doubt me now ? ’ ‘ 
She came to where he was and sat on his knee. 

If all the world were to tell me the contrar3", I would 
still believe you. But you know her you rascal, “ she 
added, gaily, shaking her rosy finger in his face. “You 
blushed like a rose when I mentioned her name.” 

Eucien’s quick mind evolved a plausible story. 

“ It is all due to your making an errand boy of me,” he 
observed, jovially. “When I delivered your message to 
Madame Vachonette, she called out ‘ Eolotte, Eolotte,’ and 
the girl we met last Sunday tripped in from the rear room. 
The Madame then told her not to fail to send your hat. She 
replied that she would do so at once and went back to her 


86 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


work. ‘Quite a pretty girl.’ I said to Madame Vachonette, 
She smiled and replied: ‘Yes, monsieur; and as modest as 
she is pretty.’ I then bowed to the Madame and went to the 
Club. When you mentioned Lolotte’s name, I thought 
Madame Vachdnette had babbled about the remark I made 
and I felt embarrassed, knowing what a tease 3^ou are .” 

“ But, Lucien, if you don’t know Lolotte, why did she 
greet you so effusively Sunday ? ” 

He explained how he had happened to bow to the little 
milliner, then added, geniunely perplexed: 

“ What puzzles me, is that she said ‘Bonjour’ to me.” 

Blanche burst into a merry laugh. 

“ You are the dullest man in creation. She did not say 
“ Bonjour” to j^ou, but to me.” 

•‘ And you knew this all along ? ” 

“ Yes; but I thought you were acquainted with her and 
wanted to fool me. That is why I asked you to stop at Ma- 
dame Vachonette’s. I wanted to see how you would act.” 

“And being innocent, I baffled your little plot ? ” 

“It was dark in the hall and I could not clearly see your 
face, but the promptness with which you agreed to deliver 
the message, dispelled my suspicions. You would not have 
dared to go in that shop if you knew Lolotte, but would 
have given some plausible excuse. Was not my judg- 
ment correct.” 

“You are a level-headed diplomat,” remarked Lucien, 
pointing to the clock; “but I would advise j^ou to cast 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 87 

your optics in this direction. Do we go to church today? ” 

Blanche glanced at the clock. 

“ Ten minutes of eleven! Oh, but we’ll be late ! I 
just have to put on 1113^ hat. I’ll be ready right away. And 
you — ’' 

“If you get out of here, I’ll be ready inside of five 
minutes.” 

The priest was intoning the Gloria as the Dumonts en- 
tered the church. Blanche had taken the precaution to lock 
the pew the evening previous and the brother and sister 
were able to attend Mass among the fashionable 
parishioners. 

Blanche was resplendent in a new dress and new hat. 
She was too bus3’’ thinking how many feminine e3^es were 
enviously criticizing her toilette to pay any attention to Lu* 
cien or persons worshiping in the side aisles of the church. 
Had her eyes been as sharp as usual, she would have 
noticed the look of recognition which passed between her 
brother and the little milliner. It was like a flash, but it 
was sufficient to cause the roses to come to the cheeks 
of the young girl and the artist to imagine that the 
gloomy old edifice had suddenly been transformed into 
heaven. 


CHAPTER XIV. 
the triumph of the serpent. 

“Good-bye, Blanche. I am going to the club.” 

“Good-night, Lncien. Don’t come home too late, 
dear.” 

“All right. Sis. I’ll be home very early.” 

PI very night it was the same thing — the same admoni- 
tion, the same answer. And Lncien generally returned home 

very early in fact, so early, that the roosters would be 

crowing and the calas women, on their way to the Marche 
Francais, would respectfully incline their tignons as they 
psased him b3U 

Instead of going to the club , Lucien wended his way to 
the vine-sheltered cottage in far-off Bayou Road. It was 
Monday, the night he had promised to call. 

Lolotte mechanically admitted him, as if it was a matter 
of course. She was pale and wan and still had the frightened 
look in her limpid blue eyes; but she answered his quest- 
ions about her health carelessly and naturally, and he nev- 
er for a moment imagined that she was sick and suffering; 
that her heart was on the verge of despair. 

She introduced him to her mother . She did not know 
his name, did not inquire and did not seem to think it 


• THE TRIUMPH OF THE SERPENT. 


89 


of any consequence, but simply said : 

“ Mother, this is the’ gentleman who was so kind to me 
and who loaned me his umbrella the other day.” 

This was the formal introduction. And the mother held 
out her hand to him, as one does to a comrade, thanking him 
effusively, and went back to her room, excusing herself on 
the plea of feeling tired and needing rest. 

Lolotte told him what had happened after his departure 
Saturday evening. Pierre had come a few moments later, 
his usually red face white with anger, his limbs seeming 
hardly able to support him. She came to meet him, but he 
pushed her rudely away and sank into a chair, speechless 
and panting. She thought he was going to have a fit and 
was about to call her mother, who was ironing her Sunday 
petticoat under the shed, when the storm burst forth. She 
was ashamed to repeat what he said. At times, she thought 
he was going to beat her; but he contented himself with 
abusing her shamefully and had left in a towering rage, 
vowing he A^ould never return. 

‘•So it is all over between you and Pierre.?” said 
Lucien. 

‘•Oh, no,” she answered simply. ” When his anger 
cools off, he’ll feel sorry and come back and beg my pardon. 
He thought you were courtin gme and is jealous, that’s all’ ’ 

“ So he did not come yesterday ? ” 

“ No; and I did not expect him, either. He will sulk 
for a few days yet. He loves me and will not be able to 
stay away.” 

“Supposing he persists in keeping away ? ” 


90 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“ I would write to him to come back, I am to blame, you 
know, although I meant no harm.” After a moment’s 
reflection, she resumed: “You must not come here any 
more, monsieur. It displeases Pierre and I am afraid he 
might harm you. He has such a violent temper.” 

Dumont could not refrain from smiling at the idea that 
Pierre could hurt him. 

“ Don’t you think I am sturdy enough to take care 
of myself?” he asked. 

“ I knowyou could ably defend yourself,” she hastened 
to reply, thinking she had perhaps offended him; “but I 
don’t think it is right for me to receive attentions from 
anyone while I am the promised wife of another. This must 
be the lavSt time you come to see nie, monsieur.” 

Her simplicity charmed and amused him. 

“ We could be friends, at all events,” he said, softly. 
“ Pierre might be cruel to you, tyrannize you, beat you — 
and if you have no one to whom you can look to in your 
hours of darkness, how vain, how empty your life will 
be!” 

It was the Serpent who was speaking. The girl felt a 
strange sensation thrill every flbre of her body. Seeing her 
helplessness, the tempter continued: 

“ Think of a pretty, refined and sensitive girl like you 
linked forever to a man like Pierre. You are above yonr 
station, Lolotte, and should aspire higher,” 

“ Pierre has been good to me,” came the answer, in a 
low, faint voice. “He is crude, but he is honest. I have 
promised to be his wife. I must be fair to him.” 


THE TRIUMPH OF THE SERPENT. 


91 


“Plead, and she is yours,” whispered the Serpent. 
“ Can’t vou see she is ready to fall ? Fool, she is at your 
mercy ! ” 

Eucien took the slender hand in his. Eolotte did not 
resist. ? 

‘ • Do you really love Pierre ? Think of the sacrifice if you 
marry him simply because you have promised to do so. It 
will be moral suicide every day of your life.” 

He bent his head until his lips were nearly touching hers. 
Eike a fascinated bird, she fixed her startled eyes upon his 
face, powerless to resist love’s hypnotism. Then, all of a 
sudden, he kissed her, full upon the lips. It was more like a 
touch of flame than a mere caress, unlike the kisses 
Pierre had ever given her . A mist passed before her eyes 

and she saw nothing nothing save the passion-kindling 

eyes looking into her own and thrilling her to the very soul. 

“ You love me, little one ? ” 

It was the same soft, caressing voice in which he had 
said “You look tired, little onel” the first time they had 
met. A fierce joy surged in her breast. All memory 
of Pierre was instantly swept awa3^ 

“ Yes, I love you ! Press me close to your heart and 
let me lie there for all time to come ! ’ ’ 

And the Serpent’s yellow eyes gleamed and 
glistened and he crept back into his hole, exultant at his 
triumph. 


CHATER XV. 


THE OMEN OF THE FALLING STAR. 

Winter had given way to Spring and Spring to Sum- 
mer. Dumont was now Eolotte’s accepted lover ; only, he 
had asked her to keep their engagement a secret, as he 
co'dd not marry before a lawsuit growing out of his father’s 
succession was settled. And she, trusting him, had agreed. 

Luoien no longer waited for Eolotte on the street now. 
He was too well known about town and was afraid of exci- 
ting comment. Once or twice could do uoharni, but if he 
were seen every evening waiting for the girl or escorting her 
home, the busy-bodies would be sure to wag their tongues. 
It takes so little to mar a woman’s reputation, especially 
when she is young and pretty, and the mere fact that he, a 
man of the world, was paying marked attention to a working 
girl, would place the poor wage-earner in a questionable 
light in the eyes of a cynical public. 

Although Dumont knew that an alliance with Eolotte 
w’as not to be thought of, he really liked and respected the 
dainty little milliner. He looked upon himself ss her protect- 
or, a sort of foster-brother, and w’ould re idily have avenged 
on the field of honor any affront to her fair name. 


THE OMEN OF THE FALLING STAR- 


93 


One radiant night in August, as Lucien lingered on the 
steps, a shooting-star suddenly flared across the heavens, 
leaving a long fiery trail in its wake. 

“ How beautiful ! ” exclaimed Lolotte. 

“ Did you make a wish ? ” asked Lucien. 

“ No,” was the answer, in. disappointed tones. ‘The star 
passed too swiftly.” Then, looking into his face : “ My Lu- 
cien, 5"Ou who are book-learned and wise, — tell _ me, why 
do people make a wish w^hen they see a shooting-star? ” 

“It is a custom, dearest.” 

“ I know it is; but why ? I have often wondered.” 

“ It is an old superstition, a legacy of the ignorance and 
fanatism of the Middle Ages. It is a pretty legend.” 

“ And will you tell it to your little sweetheart ? ’ 

“ Why, of course. As if I can refuse my little one any- 
thing. Let us go in: I am tired standing.” 

When they were seated in the parlor, Lucien began : 

“The custom of wishing when a falling star whirls 
through space, is practiced alike by Christian and pagan. 
Here and there, in the highways and by-ways of the world, 
many legends and superstitions still linger and continue to 
retain their ancient prestige. In Roumania and Gallicia, the 
peasants believe that when a star falls to earth, it is at once 
transformed into a rarely beautiful woman, who exercises 
an enchanting influence upon all those who come in contact 
with her. Every handsome youth unfortunate enough to 
attract her attention, becomes her victim. Having thus 
allured them, she winds her long black hair around them 
and the poor dupes are strangled to death. If certain words 


94 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


are miirmurred the moment the star begins to fall, they cause 
her allurements to lose their power. From this superstition 
conies the custom of wishing while a star is seen hurrying 
through the air, a wish said surely to come true if formu- 
lated before the light is extinguished. The Spaniards think 
that falling stars are the errant souls of those whose careers 
vvere cut short by destiny before they could go to confess- 
ion and who have to wander between Heaven and earth 
until the Day of Judgment. The Arabs imagine these stars 
to be burning stones thrown by the angels on the heads of 
devils wdio attempt to enter heaven. In Normandy, Brittany 
and along die Bay of Biscay, there is a tradition, implicitly 
believed by the simple country-folk, that falling stars, 
meteors and comets, are the unquiet souls of faithless hus- 
bands, wives and sweethearts, doomed to wander through 
space for a thousand years before they can enter Heaven. ’’ 

“ How pretty and romantic,” observed Lolotte, looking 
with admiration into her lover’s face. “ You must be ever 
so .smart to know all this,” 

“I have read a great deal,” said Dumont, modestl3^ 
“And in spite of 3^our learning j-our grand family name 
and your standing in sorietjq will you always love your 
little Lolotte, a daughter of the people, without ancestral 
history, without education — ” 

“ Hush, little one!” he Interrupted, bending down 
and kissing her. “ As my fiancee, you are the equal of thg 
most exalted women on earth,” 

Her head fell on his shoulder and her slender fingers 
lingered caressingly over his face and brow. She was 


THE OMEN OF THE FALLING STAR. 


95 


thoughtful for a moment, then said : 

“ Do you know that I am Breton, Lucien ? ” 

The young artist smiled and jestingly observed : 

“ So then, if ever I prove untrue to 5’on, my soul will 
go bumping about space like a sky-rocket ? ” 

’‘I don’t believe in such nonsense. We have other 
beautiful traditions, some ot which come true even now.” 

She was once more plunged in deep reflections. 

“ Do you know what would happen if ever you were 
to deceive me?” she asked, pausing in her caresses. 

“ You would marry Pierre,” replied Lncien, laughing- 

ly- 

“No,” resumed Lolotte, seriously; “I love only you 
and will care for no one else in this or in worlds hereafter. 
If ever you are false to me, I will die of a broken heart and 
my ghost will haunt you to your dying day and harm those 
who are most dear to you.” 

“ What an odd little body you are. If I did not know 
3’ou so well, I could take an oath you meant what you 
said.” 

“Ido mean what I said, Lucicn, because my whole life 
is wrapped up in you. In Bretagne, where my parents were 
born, when a lover proves false to his sweetheart and she 
sincerely loves him, she dies of a broken heart. If he ever 
marries, her ghost haunts him day and night, tormenting 
him and doing harm to those who are dear to him. I am a 
Breton woman and I love dearly.” 


96 THE HAUNTED BRIDAE CHAMBER. 


Dumont laughed it off as a good joke; but he felt 
strangely uneasy that night when, in the stillness of his 
room, he thought the matter over. He had the latent, deep- 
rooted superstitious trait of the Latin race and Lolotte’s 
uncanny words had upset his customary serene and 
careless trend of thoughts. 

“ Bah, it’s sheer nonsense,” he argued. 

But it was weeks before the feeling wore off. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A LOGICIAN COMES TO GRIEF. 

It was a jolly group which was merry-making in the 
Absinthe House, judging from the shouts, the topical 
songs, the clapping of hands and stamping of feet, the rol- 
licking outbursts of laughter and the constant cries of 
i‘ Papa Frimoose ! Papa Frimoose ! ” which now and then 
came to the ear of the passing pedestrian. 

The trio which made up the group need no formal in- 
troduction to the reader, for they are old acquaintances — 
Millistoon, artist; Chainarre, lawyer, who had received his 
diploma five years before and had never tried a case ; and 
Guoneuille. poet and cynic and reporter on the staff of 
Iv’Abeille de la Nouvelle Orleans. 

Dumont is late tonight,” observed Chainarre. 

“ I was just thinking about him,” remarked 
Guoneuille. “ There is something the matter with that 
boy. He has changed wonderfully during the past three 
months. I say, Millistoon, what do you think is the matter 
with Dumont ? ’ ’ 

“ Torpid liver,” promptly answered the artist, 

Guoneuille glared contemptuously at his comrade. 


98 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“ Millistoon, you are an ass,” he said. 

*’ I am certainly in congenial company.” 

•‘You mean to say ” 

“That you are a bigger ass than I.” 

“Impossible. Prove it, and I pay the score for a 
week.” 

“ It is self-evident. Suppose we submit the question to 
Chainarre ? He comes of a long-eared family.” 

“ And is a lawyer, besides — of untried experience.” 

Chainarre thumped the table and indignantly retorted : 

“ This is a base slander ! I have a diploma which en. 
titles me to practice law^, but I refute the imputation that I 
am a lawyer.” 

“ I was only joking, Chainarre,” remarked Guoneuille, 
in conciliatory tones. “ It would be rank idiocy to calf \'OU 
a lawyer. We want your opinion as a logician, not as a 
lawyer. Does this meet with your approval, Millistoon ” 

“ Agreed. The forfeit to be the wager I offered.” 

After seemingly endless preliminaries, as is usually the 
case before^ipsy men arrive at a decision, it was finally con- 
cluded to put the proposition in the following shape: 

“Who is the greatest ass — Guoneuille or Millistoon ? ” 

Chainarre suggested that they have another round 
Of absinthe, to clear his mental faculties. His companions 
readily assented. He then assumed an air of profound 
wisdom and gravely began: 

“The question submitted for my deliberation and deter- 
mination, reminds me of the famous Syllogismus CrocodiltiS 
Of Aristotle, which is as follows: A crocodile seizes an in- 


A LOGICIAN COMES TO GRIEF. 


99 


fant plac ing on the banks of a river. The mother rushes to 
the rescue. The crocodile, an intelligent animal, promises to 
restore the child if she will tell him truly what will happen 
to it. ‘You will never restore it ! ’ cries the mother, some- 
what hastil3\ But the crocodile astutely rises to the occa- 
sion. ‘If 3'ou have spoken truly,’ he says, ‘I cannot restore 
the child without destroying the truth of your assertion. 
If you have spoken falsely, I cannot restore the child, 
because you have not fulfilled the agreement; therefore, I 
cannot restore it, whether you have spoken trul^’ or falsely. ’ 
But the mother, too, exhibits logical powers that are rare 
indeed in her sex. ‘If I have spoken truly,’ she says, ‘you 
must restore the child, by virtue of your agreement. If I 
have spoken falsel^^, that can only be when you have 
restored the child. Therefore, whether I have spoken truly 
or falsely, the child must be restored.’ Mother and crocodile 
may still be arguing out that question. History is silent as 
to the issue.” 

“With all due respect to your astute reasoning pow- 
ers,” observed Guoneuille, with frigid sarcasm, “I fail to 
see what bearing your crocodile story has on the question 
submitted to you, O ! modern incarnation of Solomon.” 

‘ Neither do I,” said Millistoon. 

“To a sensible man, the simile is clear and to the 
point. If, in saying that Millistoon is an ass, you state the 
truth, then, ipso facto, he is one; but if, in making the state- 
ment, 3^011 .speak falsely, then you are not onl3^ an ass, but 

a liar as well.” 

Guoneuille sadl3^ shook his head. 

L.of 0. 


lOO 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“ Your wonderful peroration decides nothing; in fact 
the matter is decidedly more obscure. As a logician, you 
are a brilliant failure. I think you are the biggest jackass 
of all.” 

“ I heartily agree with Guoneuille,” put in Millistoon. 

And after a great deal of parleying, drinking and toast- 
ing, it was finally solemnly decided that Chainarre was the 
biggest jack of the three and as such entitled to the proud 
honor of footing up all convivial bills for a week to come. 
And he, losing sight of the fact that he had not been a 
party to the agreement, accepted the decision as a matter of 
course and began to doze. Guoneuille vigorously shook 
him. 

“Chainarre — Chainarre! Be amiable. Entertain us 

with a song, you drunken sot. Be sociable.” 

Chainarre took up and drank the remaining absinthe and 
immediately went to sleep again, without deigning to reply. 

“Let the inebriate sleep,” said Millistoon. “If we 
want any entertainment, the talent is right here.” 

And, without further preamble, he sang as follows : 


Modest look and downcast eye , 
Pretty maiden passing by, 

Don’t you hear me gently sigh, 
Pretty maiden passing by. 

Pretty maiden passing by. 
Looks so timid and so shy. 

Will you love me till I die, 
Pretty maiden passing by. 


A LOGICIAN COMES TO GRIEF. 


lOI 


But, alas! she’ll not reply, 

Will not even tel! me why — 

So another maid I’ll try, 

Who may come a-passing by. 

“ Bravo — Bravo ! ” cried Giioneiiille. 

And he clapped his hands and stamped his feet so 
noisily, that Chainarre awoke with a start and looked 
dazedly around. The short nap he had taken had almost 
sobered him. 

“It’s fearfull}^ dull here,” he said. “Let’s go to 
Mere Jiguette’s.” 

“ A superb idea,” said Guoneuille.” I’m with you.” 

“Ditto,” added Millistoon. “ On to Jiguette’s ! ” 

And they walked out of the place with interlocked 
arms, singing at the top of their voices : 

“ But, alas ! she’ll not reply, 

Will not even tell me why — 

So another maid I’ll try, 

Who may come a-passing by.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


CHILDREN OF THE .STREET. 

Mere Jiguette was a Marseillaise and kept a dance-hall 
on Bourbon Street, where morals were at a premium. It bore 
a very unsavory reputation and was often raided by the po- 
lice; but our Bohemians felt no scruples about frequenting 
the place. The police knew them and even if the place was 
raided while they were there, they were never molested. 

On their way to Mere Jiguette’s, the trio met the truant 
Dumont and persuaded him to accompany them. 

As the quartette entered the cafe, they saw a young girl 
reel backward, as if from the impetus of a blow and heard 
Mere Jiguette furiously exclaim: 

“ Get out of here, you thief! I’ve caught \^ou at last.” 

The girl threw the piece of bread she had snatched from 
the counter into the woman’s face and backed toward the 
door, where she stopped and defiantly retorted: 

“ Thief? You are the biggest thief of all. How many 
times have you swindled me, when I had only a few cents 
and spent them all here for your stale bread and wormy 
cheese? And today, because I am starving and can’t pay 
you grudge me a crumb of bread. I’ll go when Ifeel like it.” 


CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 


103 


She folded her arms resolute!}’ on her breast as she stood 
her ground and a flame of red in both cheeks brought out 
the whiteness of her skin. 

“ If she were dressed in silk and lace and had a billion 
slaves, she could not be more beautiful,” said Millistoon. 

Dumont was looking at her steadily. 

“ I should like to be a portrait painter,” he observed. 

Millistoon smiled at his friend’s admiration. 

What would you do — paint the tigress?” he asked. 

“ Yes, and become famous. Look at that poise ! ” 

“ And since you are a mere dauber of cows and trees — ” 

“I’ll do the next best thing — fall in love with her.” , 

As he spoke, a boy of about seventeen , who had been 
watching the scene from behind a pillar, walked up to the 
girl and, taking her by the arm, said: 

“ Come with me, Minette. I have ten cents and we can 
buy some gaieties and cafe-nob at the French Market. We’ 1 
only have one cup, but we won’t starve.” Then, walking up 
to the counter and shaking his Anger in Mere Jiguetet’s 
face: ” You cow ! You vampire ! I’ll show you what it 
costs to insult my lady. I know you didn’t pay the police 
this week and they are just itching to run you in. I’ll tell 
the captain you robbed me of a gold watch and chain and 
two thousand dollars. He won’t believe me, but he’ll raid 
your dive anyhow, just for spite. Ta-ta, old she cat.” 

He doffed his ragged hat, bowed with mock politeness 
and was about to walk away, when Mere Jiguette chilled out: 

“ Paul— Paul ! Comeback here, you vagabond. Old 
friends must not fall out for trifles. If you are hungry and 


104 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


broke, your credit is good for twenty-five cents.” 

The bribe was tempting. Paul looked at Minette. 

“ Don’t accept any favors from her, Paul,” said the 
girl, her eyes flashing. “Ten cents is enough for two.” 

She caught hold of his arm and the pair silenth' went 
out into the street. Dumont started towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” asked Millistoon, barring 
the wa}". “ You are liable to get your head thumped if you 
flirt with that girl. Paul is a bold and fearless knight.” 

“Stop your joking. Max,” said Dumont, earnestly. “The 
poor waifs are hungry. Suppc>se wc haul them into a hahsery 
and let them gorge themselves to their hearts’ content ? ” 
The idea of a new adventure charmed Millistoon* 

“ You are a rum fellow, Dumont,” he observed. “ Those 
children are Bohemians, like us — only, a trifle more unfor- 
tunate, that’s all. What say 3'ou, comrades ? ” 

“ To the rescue,” shouted Guoneuille, delighted. 

“ My la.st breath is theirs,” chimed in Chainarre. 

“ Spare them your breath, for charity’s sake,” observed 
Millistoon. “ They are afflicted enough already.” * 

Chainarre joined in the roar of laughter which followed 
and the four boon companions started in their search for 
Paul and Minette. They went to the French Market, but 
the waifs had left immediately after eating their doughnuts 
and coffee and had gone towards the woods, the waiter said. 

The quartette kept up the search for over an hour. They 
went through the slums, asking ever^’one they met the same 
question: “Do yon know a girl by the name of Minette?” 
in some places she was known and had been seen early that 


CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 


105 


night : at others, they had never heard of her, did not care 
a straw about her and advised the gentlemen to go or they 
would call the police ; for the ‘gnetlemen’ were anything but 
quiet in their persistent search for Minette and her compan- 
ion. Millistoon finally stopped aud said, in disgust: 

“ Let us give up. I begin to feel like a parrot who can 
only say one thing, ‘Do you know a girl by the name 
of Minette?’ Let us go back. We’ll probably find her at 
Jiguette’s.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MERE JiGUETTE’S DANCE HALL. 

It was long past ten when the searchers returned 
to the hall. The place was crowded with all classes of men 
and women, drinking, talking and laughing. The quadroon 
women, gaudily attired and loaded with flashy jewelry, ran 
here and there through the crowd, laughing, flirting and 
clinking glasses with convivial gallants. Some were dancing 
the can-can^ some La Bamhoula, the music being furnisded 
by a negro orchestra composed of two fiddles, a trombone 
and a fife. As our friends entered, one of the fiddlers was 
dolorously playing and singing the following ditt}': 

“ Missier Maziro, 

Dan so vie biro, 

Li ’semble ein crapo 
Dan ein bailie dolo.” 

And all those who felt like it, shouted the chorus : 

“ Dansez, Calida, boodoom-boodoom; 

Dansez Calida, boodoom-boodoom.” 

The manipulator of the trombone, who seemed to be a 
sort of master of ceremonies, clapped his hands three times 
to command silence, and announced, in stentorian tones : 

“ De nex' ting on de pergrammy am a vocal seleckshun 
by dat grate favorite, Boule la Neige. Keep yer nioufs 


MERE JIGUETTE’S DANCE HALL. 


107 


shet an’ yer feetses still until he am by cle choris.” 

“ Bonle-la-Neige,” — negro dialect for “Snowball” — an 
African of remarkable blackness, who was one of the fid- 
dlers, struck a lively tune and began. singing: 

QUAND LISE COURRI L’EGLISE. 


I. 

Serpan dan cypriere, 

L^zar en ho barriere, 

Zibou dan pacanier, 

Titis dan latanier. 

Choual-jiab qui priere, 

Bef avec lete si fiere, 

Crapo en ho birouelte, 

Chien qui p^ i€ girouette — 
’Ret^ lous to bitin, 

Vini dan gran chimin 
Pou ouar mo I’amour, Lise, 
Courri a so I’^glise. 

Mo I’aimiu li! Mo I’aimin li! 
Pli que chac-chac I’aimin diri! 

II. 

Bef ’Takapas f^roce, 

Choual qui cassd carosse, 

Lapin dan champ dicane, 
Grenouille aupre cabane, 
Manzeur poulet canaille, 

Coq qui I’aimin bataille, 

Cosson tout plein labou, 
Crebiche kascb^ dan trou — 
Vini cot^ chimin 
Pou ouar mo I’ange diviii, 

Mo zoli pint Lise 
Courri a so I’^glise. 

Mo I’aimin li! Mo I’airain li! 
Pli qu^ chac-chac I’aimin diri! 


io8 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 

At the end of each verse, the whole crowd vociferated : 

“ Mo Vaimin li, mo Vaimin li, 

PH q\ie chac-chac Vainiui diriP 

Dumont began to feel dizzy. The heat, the noise, the 
shouts, the tumultuous stamping of feet, and the dense 
clouds of smoke from the fetid cigarettes and still worse ci- 
gars “sported” by the motley crowd, made his head swim. 

‘ ‘ Whew, this is worse than a pest-house, ’ ’ he said, ris- 
ing. “ I have enough of this. Good-night, boys.” 

His companions waved him a lazy farewell and he has- 
tened away. As he reached the street, a boy rushed in 
and shouted at the top of his voice: 

“The police ! The police ! ” 

The music instantly ceased and musicians and specta- 
tors scampered through side doors and -open windows into 
rear rooms and secret passages. The only persons who 
remained cool and indifferent amid the uproar, were our 
friends and Mere Jiguette. They were used to these inter- 
ruptions and knew exactly what to do in such emergencies. 

The boy whose warning cry had caused the panic, stalk- 
ed arrogantly in the doorway and began making “ La Ber- 
nique” at Mere Jiguette. For the information of those who 
do not know this grotesque pantomime, an explanation is 
necessary: “ La Bernique ” consists in placing the thumb 
of the left hand on the tip of the nose and extending the fin- 
gers to their utmost capacity; then the thumb of the right 
hand is placed at the extreme end of the extended finger and 


MERE JIGUETTE’S DANCE HALE. 


109 

the fingers of both hands are worked vigorously up and 
down, the perfornier’s tongue popping in and out all the 
while and keeping time with the movements of the fingers. 
Try the experiment before your mirror, gentle reader, and 
see how quickly you will become an expert. 

“Ea Bernique” was in our early days considered a most 
aggravating insult and the old Marseillaise showed her dis- 
approval of the performance by savagely hurling a beer mug 
at the urchin’s head. The latter adroitly dodged the missile 
and jeeringly said; 

“I fooled you good this time, Maniam Jiguette. The po- 
lice isn’t coming: it’s a joke.” 

“ What ! ’* screamed the old woman, furiously. “ Do 
you mean to sa}* you have ruined my business for the night 
just for a senseless joke ^ ” 

“ ’T’aint senseless. You’ll learn to treat my lady with 
more respect in future. Ta-ta, old hen ! ” 

“ You vermin — let me get hold of you !” 

Mere Jiguette, purple 'with rage, ran around the counter 
and made for her tormentor: but the boy, with a loud laugh 
of derision, took to his heels and was soon out of reach. 

Eike one awaking from a dream, Dumont gazed at the 
fast-disappearing youth. 

“ I’ll be hanged if it isn’t the boy who was with Minette 
to-ntght, ’ ’ he mused. “I wonder if she is still hungry ? ’ ’ 

Then, becoming suddenly imbued with rabid philan- 
thropic motives, he started in pursuit of the fleeing gamin. 
When he reached the corner the boy was nowhere to be 
seen, Dumont paused in his impetuous rush , 


no 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“I wonder what Millistoon, Guoneuille and Chainarre 
would say if they saw me ? This is ridiculous. Admitting 
that I did catch up with the young vagabond, he would cer- 
tainly keep out of my reach, for he no doubt saw me in that 
disreputable den and would take me for one of Jiguette’s 
avenging spirits. The girl can go to the devil.” 

He hailed a passing cab and went home. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE CAPTURE OF MINETTE. 

The evening following the exciting scenes at Mere 
Jiguette’s, Millistoon was aimlessly strolling about the 
streets, like a man who cannot make up his mind what to 
do, when just as he turned into Canal Street, he caught a 
glimpse of a pair of tattered figures hurrying along past 
the sauntering people. He recognized Minette and her 
valorous champion of the preceding night. 

•‘Hello, here’s Dumont’s starveling and her gladiator. 
I wonder if she is still hungry ? — Eh, la-bas ! ” 

But the waifs did not hear him. He hastened after 
them, so as not to lose sight of them in the crowd. Then 
he lost sight of them. He was about to give up, when he 
caught sight of the pair looking in a show-window. 

— Now I’ve got them ! ” 

He pushed his way through the crowd, but before he 
could reach them, they were off again, forging ahead with 
redoubled energy 

“ Confound the brats ! ” thought Millistoon. “I’ll get 
them if it takes all night. — I sa}^, Minette, stop a minute. 
Minette — Minette ! ” 


II2 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


Hearing her name called out, the girl wheeled about- 
but seeing no one she knew, except a policeman, she was 
seized by a sudden panicky feeling. She caught Paul's arm 
and dragged him along. 

“ Come on — quick ! ” she cried. Mere Jiguette ha.s 
.sent the police after us.” 

Paul gave a hurried look backward and seeing the 
representative of the law, caught hold of Minette’s hand 
and the two hed down Chartres Street as fast as their legs 
could carry them. Millistoon jumped into a carriage. 

“ Keep those two runawa3’S in sight, ”he said, point- 
ing to the fleeing couple. “ Don’t attract their attention.” 

He was beginning to like the adventure inlmensel3^ 
And then, the exultation of capturing Minette, after a 
two days’ chase. Pie would trot her to Papa PTimoose’s, 
rags and all, and airily remark to his astounded compan- 
ions : 

“ You are all a set of chumps. Single-handed, I have 
accomplished what your united efforts failed to do.’‘ 

They. would be crushed, dumbfounded at his sagasit}^ 
They would think him a second Napoleon 

The cab came to a sudden stop. So did Millistoon’ s 
vainglorious thoughts. The driver leaned over. 

,‘ They have just turned into Rue St. Ann, monsieur.” 

“ Well, why the devil don’t j’ou follow them ? ” 

‘ The street is impassable, monsieur. I can go no 
further. If monsieur wishes to follow on foot, there is a 
good cinder path on the North side.” 

MillivStoon alighted from the cab. 


THE CAPTURE OF MINETTE. 


113 


“You have more sense than I would have given you 
credit for,” he obvServed. “ Your idea is a good one. I 
guess the brats are going to- the Frewch Market .coffee 
stand. Wait here till I come back.” 

IMillistoon’s surmise was correct. He found Minette 
and Paul seated at the long table reserved for laborers and 
the poor. There was'a single cup of coffee and two veiy 
vslim doughnuts in front of the pair, which they were 
about to share between them as Millistoon appeared. 

“Oho, I’ve caught at last, Minette!” 

The girl gave a frightened scream and would have run 
away, but Millistoon, made wiser by past experience, was 
holding her tight and her struggles were in vain. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Minette. I will not hurt you.” 

She turned abdruptly around: then, to her captor’s 
astonishment, blushed furiously and cast down her eyes. 

“ How you frightened me. sir,” she said, without 
raising her eyes. “ I thought it was the police.” Then, 
beckoning to her companion, who had prudently retired to 
a safe distance, pending developments: “Come back, 
Paul. There's no -danger.” 

Millistoon’ s surprise was assuming monumental 
p roportions. He let go his hold of Minette. 

“ How do you know I am not a policeman in disguise?” 

Paul beat a hasty retreat, ready to take to his heels 
the moment he thought the stranger’s actions justified 
it. Minette glanced smilingly at the young cavalier. 

“lam not afraid of you, sir.” she said coquettishly. 

,. Why not ? I might have a pair of handcuffs in my 


II4 the haunted bridal chamber. 

pocket.” 

He scowled at Paul, who retreated still further. 

“ I know better, sir.” 

“ You do ? I wish you would enlighten me.” 

“ You are monsieur Millistoon, the great artist.” 

If someone had fired a pistol point-blank at him, he 
would not have been more startled. 

•‘How the dev — excuse me, I mean how the h — that 
is, how^ in thunderation do you know who I am ? ” 

Minette drew the cup of coffee toward her. 

•‘ I’ll tell you after while. I‘m too hungry now and my 
coftee is getting cold. — Come on, Paul. This gentleman 
is my friend ’ ’ 

Paul, whose confiidence in human nature was very 
limited, gingerly approached and sat as far as he could 
from the newcomer. He still looked upon him with distrust. 

“ Leave that vile stuff alone, Minette,” said Millis- 
toon, kindly. “ I want you to take supper with me.” 

Minette paused in the act of carrying the cup to her 
lips. 

“ A real big supper? ” she exclaimed, showing her 
pretty white teeth. -‘With a white table-cloth ?” 

•‘Yes” 

“And five or six dishes ? ” 

“Ten or twelve, if you care to.” 

Her eyes glistened. 

“And red and white wines and cakes and fruit ? ” 

“Yes. Champagne also, if you want.” 

The child jumped to her feet, joyously clapping her 


THE CAPTURE OF MINETTE. 


115 


hands. 

“ Golly ! she cried. “I’ll eat and drink until 1 can’t 
move any more. Eet us go. I’m fearfully hungry.” 

She took his arm and he, laughing, allowed her to 
lead the way. 

“ I have a carriage waiting at the corner,” he said 

“ A carriage ? Am I going to ride in it ” 

“ Of course; unless you prefer running alongside in 
the mud.” 

The witticism was lost upon her. She thought he 
was serious and hastened to reply ; / - 

“Oh, no — I prefer being inside. I never rode in a 
carriage in my life, except the Black Maria — and that’s 
not a carriage, either. It has no cushions and no springs. ’ ’ 

It was a droll sight, those two walking arm in arm 
along Rue St. Ann, in the full glare of the brilliant oil 
lamps swinging in front of the little shops and sailors’ 
boarding-houses which honeycombed the street. Minette 
was almost in rags, with torn shoes and stockingless 
feet; Millistoon was faultlessly attired in evening dress, 
with glossy silk hat and slender gold-headed cane, a cigar 
between his lips. The shop-keepers stared and wondered 
what it all meant, until little Marianne, in whose shop one 
could buy almost everything, from bananas to hairpins and 
who, being Guoneuille’s sweetheart, was presumed to be 
posted on everything going on about town, gave the 
following veracious explanation: 

“ It is Monsieur Millistoon, the artist, and his new 


ii6 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER . 


model. You people are way behind the times.” 

“It seems to me he ought to buy her some clothes, “ 
observed old Jean Oujatte, the ship-chandler next door. 

“Those artists are such shameless originals,” lesumed 
Marianne. “Do you know that he parades every evening 
on Canal Street with that girl, just as she is to-day ? ” 

The auditors accepted the statement as gospel truth. 

“ She is a pretty girl — and so young, too,” added old 
Oujatte, shaking his venerable head. “ And does vshe pose 
for bad pictures also ? ’ ’ 

“Everything,” answered Marianne, convincingly. 

“ What depravity! ” exclaimed old Oujatte, horrified. 
“ The world is getting more wicked every day.” 

“ Tut, tut, you are old-fahsioned, Papa Oujatte. It’s a 
businesss. just like selling calico or hawking onions. A 
girl can’t staive for the sake of propriety. And when she 
is pretty and has a fine figure — Pouf 1 what’s the odds It 
is better to flirt with the devil than to starve to death. See 
how happy they look.” 

“ Horrible — horrible I ” muttered the old man. 

And he entered his shop, to shut out the sinful sight. 

The pair had now reached the carriage. Millistoon 
helped Minette inside, gave some instructions to the driver 
and was about to step in, when someone timidly tugged at 
his sleeve. He turned sharply about and encountered 
Paul’s wistful eyes. 

“ Please, mister, may I tell Minette good-bye? ” 

It was a diplomatic coup, which won the day for the 


THE CAPTURE OF I^IINETTE. 


117 

wily yoiin«^ : camp. 'At the soniid of *liis \'oice, 'Minette 
bounded to tlie carriage door. 

“ Poor Paul, I had forgotten all about him,” .she said, 
in tones of deepest sympathy. “ Can’t Paul come too ? ” 

“ Paul can have more fun all b\’ himself,” answered 
IMillistoon. “Here, you vagabond, go and gorge yourself.” 

He selected a treasury note from a well- filled wallet 
and handed it to Paul. 'I'he \’oungster eagerh- grabl^ed the 
bill and going to the light, critically examined it. 

“How much is it, Paul ? ” asked INIinette, excitedly. 

“Five dollars,” ausweied the gamin, carefully folding 
the precious document and stuffug it in his jiccket. 

“ Bully — eat for six ! ” exclaimed the girl, with boister- 
ous glee “Five dollars? Whew ! It will kiUhnw." 

She waved her hand to him and threw him a kiss, 
as the carriage rolled rapidiy away. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE PRODIGAL AND THE WAIF. 

When Millistoon found himself alone in the carriage 
with Millet te, for the tirst time in his life he felt embar- 
rassed in the presence of a woman. Had the girl been 
fashionably attired, he would readily have found a hun- 
dred different subjects to talk about; but what could he 
say to this child of the streets, whose habitual conversa- 
tion was the language of the grogshop and whose manners 
were of that humble world despised by society — the slums 
of a wicked city? He curiously scrutinized the child. 
There was a far-away look in her eyes and she was smiling. 
He found something to say at last. Playfully nudging her, 
he suddenly exclaimed : 

“Boo! What are you thinking about?’’ 

“I was thinking about Paul and the capers he’ll cut up 
w’ith that money you gave him. Don’t you think he has 
awful manners? He didn’t even thank you. Oh, but he’ll 
cut up. He’ll be drunk for a week now. I can see him 
strutting into Jiguette’s, seating himself at the most prom- 
inent place and banging the table with all his might, shout- 
ing loudly to the old witch, so that everybody can hear 
him: Ofere Jiguette, a bottle of Ruinart frappe for a mil- 


THE PKOJDiGAL AEi) THE WAIT. 


119 


lioiiaire on a jainbooree! He lively there, old witch.’ And 
hehl Haunt tne bill high iii the air and Jlguette will break 
her neck to wait on him. After our supper, we’ll go to 
Jiguette's. Tin sure we’ll find him' there. ' He’ll stay at the 
same table night and day, driliking and eating, until his 
last cent is gone. Then Jiguette' will throw him out and 
the police will jug him. Huf he’ll be the lion of the Quar- 
tier tor a long time to come.” 

8he laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. MiT 
listoon was thoughtful for a moment, then observed: 

‘‘You vagabonds and we Bohemians have about the same 
mode of enjoying life — only we can afford to do so luxuri- 
ously while you jioor waifs take it in small doses and peril- 
ous ways, which frequently end in jail and, unfortunately, 
often in' crime ‘and murder.” 

“Oh, but Paul has never killed anyone,” said Minette, in 
frightened -tones. ‘T’m sure he never will. He sometimes 
nips a thing or two, but it’s only when we’re very hungry 
and he can’t get ‘wbrk;”' , 

“I did not mean anything personal,” said Millistoon, 
kindly. “Now, tell me, how did you know who I was when 
I made you a prisoner at the French Market this even- 
ing ?” 

“You’ll scold if I tell you,” she answered, nervously 
twitching her fingers. 

“I promise you I won’t.” 

“Honor bright?” 

“Honor bright.” 

She seemed confused and averted his gaze. 

“Do you remember coming to the assistance of a girl 
who had sprained her ankle on Dumaine Street, two weeks 


1'20 


THE HAUA^TEH BRIDAL ‘CHAMBER. 


“1 remember something of that sort.” 

“Well, I am that girl.” 

“You run about pretty lively for one who had a sprained 
ankle two weeks ago.” 

“1 never had any hurt. I fell on the sidewalk from sheer 
weakness, not having eaten anything for two days. I was 
ashamed to say so before a nice gentleman like you and 
made out I had sprained my ankle. I groaned and cried 
and you helped me into a hand-cart and gave the man 
some silver to take me to the hospital. You slipped a bill 
in my hand and said: ‘Here’s in case you need something. 
If you need more, send for me.’ You gave me your card. 
Here it is.” 

She took from the bosom of her tattered corsage a card, 
on which was written his name and address. 

“Yes, I remember the incident now; but I had forgotten 
your face.” 

She glanced up quickly at him, and he thought he saw 
a look of reproach in her eyes. 

“I have not forgotten yours,” she observed, looking tim- 
idly at him. 

“Why didn’t you come then, you little humbug ? Surely 
the bill must be all gone by this time. It was only $2.00 — 
all the change I had after paying the hand-cart man.” 

“[ am not a beggar,” she answered, almost proudly. 
“Paul runs errands and I do odd jobs and that’s enough to 
prevent us from actually starving to death.” 

“Poor little thing! Ho you know that I have been 
chasing all over town after you for two days ?” 

“You have? And why?” 

“I was at Jiguette’s when the old hag abused you so 
shamefully the other night and felt sorry for you. When 


THE PEODIGAL AND THE WAIE. 


121 


yau ran away, 1 tried to overtake you, but you melted into 
the air. 1 have been looking for you ever since.’’ 

He purposely refrained from mentioning the part his 
comrades had taken in the chase. 

“Why should you be looking for me?” 

It was her nature to be suspicious. 

“To give you the grandest supper you ever had in vour 
life.” 

“And why?” 

“Just to put up a job on Mere Jiguette. We’ll go and 
make ‘La Bernique’ to her after supper.” 

“And the old tortoise will be furious !” 

The idea seemed to amuse her .pmmensely and she 
laughed heartily. 

“Why didn’t you stop when I called you on Canal Street 
to-night?” 

“I did not see you. I only saw a policeman and thought 
the jig was up.” 

“Would you have come if you had seen me?” 

“Of course.” 

“So you trust me, eh ?” 

“Yes.” 

She was silent for a moment; then, edging closer to him: 

“I like you,” she said, simply. 

“You do, eh? Then we cau'ibe capital friends.” 

“You are so good. Ever since the day you befriended 
me, T feel happy whenever I see you. Often, at Mamam 
Jiguette’s, when you were drinking and making merry, I 
have sat in a dark corner, where no one could see me, 
watching you for hours at a time.” 

“The deuce you say.” 

“Yes — an — and — ” 


122 


THE HAUXTEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


She burst out crying. 

‘•Why, Minette, what is the matter?” 

“Perhaps this is all a dream,” she sobbed, “and PH wake 
up and find myself lying on the straw in my garret, hungry 
and miserable. I feel too happy for this to be real. Tell 
me, am I really awake? And are we going to have that 
big supper?” 

“Of course you are not dreaming. We will have that 
supper in a moment.— Ah, here we are.” 

The carriage had stopped in front of a brilliantly-lighted 
establishment. Alinette looked eagerly out of the window. 

“Now I know I’m not dreaming,” she said, gaily. “This 
is Papa Erimoose’s xdticei” 

“Yes. Let us "ght out.”- 

She had already given him her hand, when she hurriedly 
drew back. Eor the first time, she noticed her tattered 
garments and a sudden inexplicable feeling of coquetry 
took possession of her. 

“Oh, no — not in there. It is too fashionable. They’ll put 
me out like a dog.” 

“Nothing of that sort will happen. You are with me 
and safe from insult and annoyance. Don’t be foolish, 
Alinette. It will be a merry bum.” 

’ But she shook her head resolutely. She would not enter 
the place for all the gold in the world. People would turn 
up their noses at her and’ make fun of her dress and 
broken shoes. Millistoon argued, coaxed and pleaded. It 
was of no avail. At last, in despair, he said: 

“Suppose we go to my house? There you will be at 
home, with no curious people to bother you.” 

“And the big supper?” 

“I’ll order it here and have it sent over. I live just 


THE PKOHIGAL ASD THE WAIF. 


123 


around the block, on Bourbon Street. It will not take 
long.” 

- She thought it was a good plan and Millistoon entered 
the cafe and gave Papa Erimoose the most astounding or- 
der he had ever received in his life. It embraced everything 
one could think of in the edible and drinkable line and 
almost took his breath away. It would take at least five 
cooks and half a score of maritons to get the meal ready in 
time. But he would do it. Nothing was impossible when 
it came to please Monsieur Millistoon. 

“Not a word to my friends about this,” cautioned the 
artist; “if you do, I won’t pay you and skin you alive into 
the bargain. Have the whole layout at my house within 
an hour.” 

He went back to the carriage and in a few minutes they 
had reached their destination. Everything was dark inside, 
except for a light in the hall, which burned brightly. 

“Where are you taking me to V’ asked Minette, sus- 
piciously. 

“This is where I live.” 

She stepped out and critically surveyed the building. 

“What a fine house ! It is like the castles I read about 
in the Detective Library. Golly, it’s grand!” 

He smiled at her childish enthusiasm and they entered 
the house. He had the drawing and dining rooms lighted 
and she opened her eyes in astonishment as the pretty 
things which surrounded her met her wondering gaze. 

“Golly, you must be rich!” she cried; then, as an after- 
thought: “Are you married?” 

“No; I am a Bohemian, like you, knocking about the 
world.” Then looking at her costume: “How^ would you 
like to have some new dresses?” 


124 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


The color mounted to her cheeks and her eyes sought the 
floor. 

“Why do you want to give me new dresses for?’’ 

“Just because I want you to look nice.” 

She was a long time answering ; finally, she said : 

“We can talk about this afterward. Let’s have that 
• supper first. The only way I can tell I am not dreaming, is 
when I am eating.” 

“All right. I’ll go and hurry up Papa Erimoose.” 

He took his hat and went out into the street. 


CHAPTEK XXI. 


A STRANGE SUPPER AND A NEW COUSIN. 

Left to herself, Minette feasted her eyes on the beautiful 
thiugs about the room— the Brussels carpet, the rugs, the 
ihctures, tthe tapestries, the statuettes, the brica-brac, the 
elegant furniture. 

“I must be either dreaming or dead,” thought the mysti- 
fied child. “This is like heaven.” 

In half an hour, Millistoon returned. 

“Supper is served.” he announced, cheerily. 

lie took her by the hand and led into the dining-room, 
d'he table was resplendent with snow-white linen, a basket 
of beautiful red roses in the center and silver chandeliers 
at each end. And the menu! There was enough to 
banquet a dozen people — big, savory, steaming dishes, 
which filled the air with an aroma which made the mouth 
of the poor waif water. Her eyes bulged out likt saucers 
and she had great difficulty in restraining herself from 
s])rawling all over the table and eating like a dog out of 
the dishes. 

“Sit down, Minette. What do you want to start with?” 

“Everything. Em so hungry I could eat the plates.” 

It was a strange scene: The table ablaze with light, re- 


IHE IIAUXTED BIUDAE CHAMBEK. 




llectiiig the silver; at one end, Maxiine Millistoon, the 
eminent portrait-painter; next to him, Minette, a nobody, 
a waif from the slums of a great city, with her tattered 
dress and yawning shoes. 

Alinette chattered like a parrot. She spoke learnedly of 
the viands, praised the wines, went into ecstacies over the 
fruit, eating, eating, eating all the while, until Alillistoon 
wondered where she could stow away all that disapiDeared 
from her plate. She smiled at his pleasantries and they 
talked about a hundred varied topics. The time sped on 
merrily, unheeded by the waif and unnoticed by the prodi- 
gal. hinally, Alinette pushed back her chair and said: 

“1 can’t eat another mouthful. It’s too bad, with all 
those good things going to waste.” Then she suddenly re- 
marked: ‘"Are you serious about those dresses you spoke 
about before supper ?” 

“Certainly. You can have as many as you want.” 

“And what are you going to ask me in return.” 

“To love me — just a little bit. Do you think you could ?” 

He sat beside her and looked pleadingly into her face. 
She caught hold of his hand and tenderly kissed it. 

“Ams, 1 can. I have loved you ever since the day you 
pitied me, thinking I had hurt my ankle.” 

He lifted her bodily from the chair, took her in his arms 
and kissed her full- on the lips. She pushed him back, 
gently, but firmly. 

‘^Yo — no — you must not do that. It is not good to make 
love after such a grand supper. It will spoil the diges- 
tion.” 

I hey both laughed and she resumed, a little more seri- 
ously : 

“Before you came, no one had ever been kind to me — 


A STKAXGE SUPPEK. 


127 


except Paul. Poor Pauli lie is not bad — only a little 
wild, that’s all. He likes to get drunk and I used to drink 
because he did. We seemed to forget that we were home- 
less and hungry when we were drunk. But 1 shall never 
drink any more, if you let me stay with you. Will you 
let me be near you'^ 1 will be your servant, your slave, 
and promise to behave myself.” 

“You can stay here as long as you want to. You need 
not work; I have servants enough. Just imagine you are 
a grand lady and own this house, servants and all. Only, 
you must dress nicely and have nothing to do with Paul 
or your old comrades.” 

A pained expression overspread the girl’s face. 

“Give up Paul? It will be hard. We have been together 
since we were children.” 

“I’ll see that he is well provided for; but he must not 
know you are here. Those gamins are too troublesome. Do 
you promise?” 

She was thoughtful for a long time; then: 

“Perhaps you are right. Paul tempts me and I can’t 
resist. I will give up even Paul for your sake.” 

“All right. I’ll have you installed in your apartments.” 

He rang for Zoozoon, the housekeeper, and told her to 
let Minette sleep in her room that night. He explained 
that she was the daughter of a poor great-uncle of his, who 
liad died in penury and had consigned the child to his 
care. She had come over in the steerage and all her 
clothes and belongings had been stolen. 

“Give her a good bath,” he added, “and to-morrow I’ll 
have a room fixed up for her. It is too late now. I want 
you to go early in the morning to Madame Vachonette and 
have her come here. I want the child togged in the latest 


128 THE IIAUXTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


fashion, from head to feet. Good-night, Minette. Be a 
g-ood girl.” 

He kissed her on the cheek, as one would a daughter or 
a sister, and she was led away by the discreet Zoozoon, who, 
whatever she thought of the matter, kept her mouth shut. 
She had been drilled from infancj’ to observe and act with- 
out asking questions and other people’s morals did not 
concern her. 


CIIAPTEK XXII. 

MILLISTOO^'S ROMANTIC DREAM. 

The next day, about noon, Millistoon came in with a 
jovial air. 

“Zoozoon is too slow,” he observed. “I went after the 
dresses myself.” 

Behind him was Madame Vachonette, accompanied by 
a woman with a great bundle. As the women entered, he 
went out of the room. 

“Call me when my cousin is dressed,” he remarked. 

Then the fitting began. 

“You must pardon me, mademoiselle,” the Madame ex- 
plained, “but I have very few ready-made toilettes. Mon- 
sieur Millistoon said it was an urgent case and told me the 
misfortune that had happened to you. What hordes of 
dishonest people there are in this world. Even stealing the 
clothes from a poor orphan’s back. — Ah, I think that, with 
a few alterations, this dress will fit all right.” 

She went to the door and called out: 

“Monsieur, you can come in now.” 

“You look charming, Minette,” said Millestoon, all 
smiles at the transformation. “Take her measures for as 
many toilettes as she wants. I want to make up for all the 


130 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


misery she went through. If my uncle had only written, 
1 would have sent money over. Bah, those peasants are so 
foolishly proud.” 

And, like a respectful and discreet cousin, he retired 
when the Madame began taking the giiTs measurements. 

He stopped Madame Vachonette in the hall. 

“Bring lingerie — everything. The poor thing has been 
robbed of every stitch of clothing. Yes, to-morrow will 
do.” 

The succeeding days were dreams to the amateur philan- 
thropist. He lived like a man whose head is in the clouds 
and who fancies he has no feet. He had not said a word 
to his companions about the advent of his new cousin and 
when they reproached him for not being with them as much 
as before, he would say: 

“I have caught the fever from Dumont. I have resolved 
to reform and lead a virtuous life hereafter.” 

But the most genuine mourner was Papa Frimoose, who 
had only seen Millistoon by fits and starts since that 
astounding supper he had ordered. He sadly missed the 
bon vivant, and missed still more the banknotes he used to 
leave with him every night, after a debauch with 
Guoneuille, Dumont and Chainare. 

“It’s absinthe,” argued the old fellow, knowingly shaking 
his head. “He’ll come back when he gets over his fit.” 

As the days went by, Millistoon became more infatuated 
than ever with Minette. He began to believe he really 
loved her and formulated wild plans to clandestinely take 
her away from New Orleans — to Paris, even. No one would 
know whence she had sprung. He would place her in a 
convent, marry her when she became educated enough and 
in a few years bring her back to New Orleans. No one 


:V11LLIST00X’S ROMAXTIC DREAM. 


131 


would recognize in the beautiful wife of Maxime Mil-' 
listoon, artist of international celebrity, the poor waif who 
once was called a thief by a low dive keeper, because she 
was starving and had snatched a piece of bread from the 
counter. 

Two vVeeks sped by. Millistoon was now an abject slave 
to Minette’s beauty and was actively engaged in making 
preparations for leaving the City with the girl and taking 
her to Paris, to carry out his plan of redemption. 

Ilis brother artists were dumbfounded at his sudden 
desire to return to the Old-World. 

^AVe all thought you were going to make New Orleans 
your permanent home,” half-questioned Guoneuille one 
day, in the Absinthe House. 

IMillistoon had dropped in for the first time since he had 
run away from them, two weeks previous. Only Guon- 
euille and Chainarre were there. Dumont had also taken 
a reform fit — for reasons well-known to the reader — and no 
longer chummed with his old comrades. He sometimes 
came to the Cercle — that was all. 

“Well, you see, here’s how it all came about,” said Mil- 
listoon, in answer to Guoneuille’s question. “My old aunt 
in Paris, wEo is fabulously rich and keeps me supplied 
with money, is about to snuffle out her candle. She wants 
to kiss me before she dies. I am her only living relative 
and I must see that she does not bequeath her wealth to 
some priest or some religious institution. Of course Pll 
come back to New Orleans as soon as I have buried the old 
barnacle. Do you blame me, comrades?” 

“Not a bit,” replied Guoneuille. 

“It is my firm conviction that you a lucky, good-for- 
nothing canine,” put in Chainarre. . 


182 


THE HAUNTED BEIDAL CHAMBER. 


Guoneuille 'filled the three empty glasses. 

^‘Here’s to the speedy death of the old aunt,” he said, 
irreverently. 

And they laughed and joked and clinked glasses and it 
seemed as if the good old times had returned. Presently, 
Millistoon pulled out his watch and looked at the time. 

“Nine o’clock!” he exclaimed, rising abruptly. “I never 
thought it was so late.” 

He shook hands with Chainarre and Guoneuille and 
walked rapidly away. 


CHAPTEK XXIII. 

A SOLILOQUY AND A MARVELOUS CAB RIDE. 

Guoiieuille sadly shook his head as Millistoon disap- 
pea red from sight. 

“I say, Chainarre,*’ he began, a look of perplexity on 
his countenance, ‘‘what has come over Millistoon lately? 
And what the deuce ails Dumont? What’s gone wrong 
with the world, anyhow? What do you think about it, 
Chainarre ?” 

“Zashallright,” thickly replied Chainarre. 

“What’s all right?” Then, looking steadily at him: 
“Drunk again ! Why don’t you quit this debasing practice, 
Chainarre? Why don’t you do like me. I never get drunk. 
I am the soberest man in Christendom. I don’t see why a 
man should swill liquor like a hog. It besots the intellect, 
places one on the level of the beast. I wonder if the 
drunkard left any absinthe in the decanter? Ah, yes — 
just one drink. Well, here’s to your speedy disintegration, 
you sot.” 

He gulped down a glassful of the opalescent liquid and 
resumed : 

“I say, Chainarre, let’s talk this matter over. It’s seri- 
ous — more serious than you think. There’s only two of us 


lU 


THE HAUXTED BKIDAL CHAMBEE. 


left now. We used to be six. Henri Dufour was the first 
to go. He got married and that was the end of it. Gus- 
tave Lavergne slapped Eaoul Belane’s face and got a 
rapier-thrust through the breast for this diversion the next 
morning under the Oaks. This left four of us. Then 
Lueien Dumont’s sister thought he was going too rapidly 
to the devil and keeps him tied to her apron strings. And 
to cap the climax, Millistoon becomes suddenly insane and 
is going to expatriate himself. What would become of me, 
should you commit suicide? I would drink myself to 
death through sheer loneliness. — I say, Chainarre, let’s 
talk this matter over.” 

Chainarre’s head had fallen on his breast. He was fast 
asleep. 

^‘You’re an agreeable companion,” resumed Guoneuille, 
shaking him in a futile endeavor to arouse him. “A^ou are 
amusing, entertaining, sociable. You are the quintescence 
of politeness.” Then, angrily giving him a thrust, which 
sent the sleeper sprawling on the floor : ‘T hope you’ll 
never wake, you drunken brute. I’m done with you. I’m 
going to spend the night at Millistoon’s. Good-bye for- 
ever, you dog.” 

He gave the prostrate form a parting kick and stag- 
gered through the door into the wine-room. 

“Papa Erimoose, you thieving extortioner and macer,” he 
said, turning to the proprietor, “take care of the corpse 
in the room over there. That’s all the payment you’ll get 
for your vile liquor to-night. You hear, you escaped con- 
vict from Caledonia?” 

“Yery well, monsieur.” 

He smiled and smirked and vigorously wiped the counter 
with his napkin. He was used to such amiable outbursts 


A MAKVELOUS CAB BIDE. 


135 


and knew exactly what to do under the circumstances. He 
knew he would be paid the next day. He would charge 
them three times more than they owed and they would pay 
without demurring. He was a sly old dog, Papa Erimoose. 
No. w'onder he was buying property and was a big stock- 
holder in the Banque d’ Orleans, the Banque des Citoyens 
and several other local concerns. 

“Good-night, robber and extortioner.” 

Guoneuille zig-zagged toward the door and soon found 
himself on the sidewalk. . 

“Where was I going? Oh, yes, to Millistoon’s.” 

He hailed a cab and laboriously climbed inside. 

“Where does monsieur wish to go ?” asked the driver. 

“To the devil.” 

“Very well, monsieur.” 

He was accustomed to the vagaries of the sports of the 
period. He mounted his box and for nearly three hours 
drove slowly about town. ‘ He presently heard a tremen- 
dous commotion inside the cab. He stopped, opened the 
door and looked inquiringly inside. 

“Has monsieur called?” 

“I have been trying to attract your attention for the 
past thousand years, you cut-throat. Haven’t we reached 
Millistoon’s yet ?” 

“Does monsieur mean the artist?” 

“Of course, you thick-skull. Do you think I meant the 
morgue keeper?” 

“JVIonsieur will pardon my contradicting him, but he 
gave me no instructions. He got into the cab at seven 
o’clock and immediately fell asleep. I did not wish to 
disturb monsieur. It is now after midnight.” 

Gueoneuille had in reality been asleep only three hours. 


136 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


thlaving been in the cab since alDout ten o’clock; but ^ 
drunken man’s memoi’5' keeps no clock. 

“Well then, make up for lost time and drive me to Mil- 
listoon’s.” 

They were only half a block from the artist’s house, but, 
by making detours and driving slowly, it was half an hour 
before the cab reached its destination. 

“Here you are, monsieur.” Then, as the young man 
showed no disposition to pay him: “Shall I wait here, 
monsieur?” 

“You can wait till Judgment Day.” 

“As you wish, monsieur. Wake me up when you are 
ready.” 

He entered the cab and made himself comfortable. He 
had driven fiacres in Paris before coming to America and 
knew a good customer when he saw him. An all-night job 
was certainly worth twenty dollars. 

Guoneuille surveyed the building for a few minutes and 
catching hold of the ponderous iron-knocker which served 
the purpose of bell, let it fall back with reverberant noise 
upon the door. A head was thrust put of a second-story 
window. 

“Is that you, Minette?” 

“No, it’s Guoneuille. I say, Millistoon, are you drunk?” 

“No, but it’s undeniable that you are. Go away, Guon- 
euille.” 

“What — ^you drive me away from your door ?” 

He was half-sobbing. 

“Eor God’s sake go ,away, Guoneuille.” 

Eor answer, Guoneuille took hold of the knocker and 
made enough noise to wake up the dead. 

“If you don’t open the door instantly. I’ll summon as- 


A MARVELOUS CAB RIDE. 


137 


sistance and batter it down.” 

Millistoon knew it was useless to argue. 

‘‘All right,” he vociferated. “Keep quiet. Um coming.” 

He came down and unbolted the door. He was still in 
evening dress. 

“Hello! Haven’t gone to bed yet?” 

The sight of his friend dressed as he had left the Ab- 
sinthe House, sobered him instantly. 

“You are not going away to-night?” he said, brokenly. 

Millistoon looked pale and wan. 

“No; come in. I’ll tell you all.” 

He suppressed a sob and convulsively clasped his friend’s 
hand as they slowly and silently ascended the stairs, as 
solemn as if they were about to enter a mortuary chamber. 


’ CHAPTER XXIV. 
millistoon’s awakening. 

They were both sober now. Millistoon, in an outburst 
of confidence, told Guoneuille everything: how he had 
found Minette; his plans for her redemption; his wild 
dream of a happy, alluring future. All this was dispelled 
now. When he returned home from Papa Frimoose^s, he 
found the following note from Minette: 

“Pve gone on a drunk with Pierre. Pll be back before 
morning.” 

And he had been waiting ever since for her return. 

“And to think that if I had not gone to the Absinthe 
House, all this would never have happened.” 

Guoneuille had a sudden inspiration. 

“She probably got into a scrape,” he said. “Perhaps she 
is in jail. Suppose we go and search for her?” 

“At this time? Look, it’s almost two o’clock.” 

“I have a cab waiting at the door. We will probably 
find her at Jiguette’s.” 

A drowning man clutches at a straw. Millistoon, in his 
despair, saw probable salvation in Guoneuille’s suggestion. 

“It will do no harm to try to find her, anyhow,” he said, 
feebly. 

They woke up the cab-driver and went to Jiguette’s. 


MILLISTOOX'S AWAKENING. 


139 


They inquired about Minette. 

^‘She has not been around since that night she stole from 
me,” remarked Alere Jiguette. “I think she made a rich 
liaul, for Paul has been coming here every time he gets 
out of jail and spends money like a prince. But he is as 
dumb as an oyster when I ask him about Minette. I am 
sorry, messieurs. Perhaps Paul could tell you. He ought 
to be here by this time. He is late. If you — ” 

But they had no time to listen to the voluble dame’s 
talk. They went to the police station. Oh, yes — they knew 
iMinette well. They had not seen her for a long while. 
Paul was arrested now and then for being drunk; but it 
was more to sober him up, as the boy was harmless and had 
never otfendcd the majesty of the law. The sergeant 
would put his best men to look for the girl and would re- 
port to monsieur’s house in an hour or two. Monsieur 
could go home and rest assured that the matter would be 
well attended to. Oh no, he would not think of accepting 
money for himself — but he had so many little tots and 
thanked monsieur in their name. 

So the pair returned home. They did not go to bed, but 
sat and smoked in silence as the hours slowly dragged by. 

Morning dawned — morning in the quaint old town, with 
its deserted streets, its few stragglers and still fewer early 
risers. A cab suddenly turned the corner and stopped in 
front of Millistoon’s house. 

“It’s Minette,” cried Millistoon. 

He rushed to the window just in time to see the cab door 
swinging to and fro on its hinges. Someone had already 
alighted and he heard heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. 
The door was suddenly pushed open and Minette staggered 
into the room, dragging Paul behind her. 


140 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


‘Aliiiette!” 

It was Millistooii’s voice — the voice of a man whose heart 
is breaking. 

“Here 1 am, old fel,” leered the girl, lurching like a 
small boat in a heavy sea. “I tried hard to be a lady, but it 
wouldn’t work. You can’t cut a diamond out of a cobble- 
stone, old fel.” Then, sobering up a little: “But you were 
good to me and I wanted to part friends. And those big 
dinners and those fine dresses! But I can’t give up Paul 
and have saved enough money to keep us drunk for three 
months. Good-bye, old fel.” 

“If you are not out of here in two minutes,” he said; 
“I’ll call the police.” 

At the mention of the word “police,” Paul immediately 
woke up from his semi-lethargy and began violently tug- 
ging at his companion’s sleeve. She silently obeyed the 
impulse and they shambled the stairs, into the street and 
were whirled away by the same cab that had brought them 
a few minutes before. 

Guoncuille walked to the window and watched the cab 
as it swiftly disappeared from view. 

“You are a great deal more of a man than I thought,” 
he said, shaking his friend warmly by the hand. “I hope 
this will be the last of the girl. I give you my word of 
honor 1 will never breathe a word of this to a living soul, 
not even Chainarre.” 

“Thank you, Guoneuille. Yes, I am done with her for- 
evem. What more could one expect from a child of the 
slums?” 

Guoneuille silently pressed his hand and went his way, 
]jondering over the frailty of human nature and the mys- 
terious vagaries of the human mind. 


CHAPTEK XXV. 

THE FLIGHT TO EUROPE. 

On the same evening of the day of Minette’s fall from 
grace, Millistoon, Guoneuille and Ohainarre were seated, 
as of old, in the Absinthe House. Toasts of “Here’s to 
the prodigal’s return” had been of such frequent occur- 
rence, that Chainarre was fast asleep and Guoneuille was 
alternately dozing and talking to himself or making 
speeches to imaginary audiences, as was his custom when 
in his cups. Millistoon had seemed to be drinking reck- 
lessly, but in reality he had imbibed very little. His heart 
was sore. He could not help thinking of Minette. Guon- 
euille suddenly raised his head and putting his elbows on 
the table, rested his face between the palms of his hands 
and looked fixedly at Millistoon. 

“Do you know what I was thinking about?” he re- 
marked. 

“Absinthe,” promptly responded the artist. 

“Xo; I was cogitating about the age of the world.” 

“I’ll admit it is pretty old, but I never took the trouble 
to make any computation.” 

“T am astonished at your dense ignorance, and the lack of 
interest you display — astonished and pained. Do you know 


142 


THE HAUXTEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


that the world has long since passed its one billionth anni- 
versary 

Millistoon, who knew from past experience what a bore 
Guoneuille was when in an argumentative mood, arose and 
wearily said: 

“I have no doubt Chainarre will enjoy your harangue 
hugely. I feel sleepy and am going home.” 

Guoneuille caught him by the sleeve of his coat. 

‘‘But Millistoon, you must listen. That idiot will never 
understand me. Do sit down.” 

He was so comically serious, that Millistoon, to humor 
him, did as requested. Guoneuille resumed: 

“The age of the world is a subject of intense and un- 
fathomed interest. Its computation has been a labor of 
love for me. Going back ages and ages and assuming that 
the average rate of denundation in past geological epochs 
did not materially differ from what it is at present, and 
that the total quantity of stratified rock would, if uni- 
formly spread over the whole globe, form a layer 1,000 
feet in thickness, we have a total period of 1,000 multiplied 
by six thousands, multiplied by four, or 24,000,000 years. 
Do you follow?” 

“O yes; it is as clear as Bayou St. John mud.” 

“I am glad to know you intelligently grasp my meaning. 
These 24,000,000 years, however, only represent the time 
necessary to deposit the rocks — ” 

“What rocks, Guoneuille?” 

“The stratified .rocks, of course, you numskull. Don’t 
interrupt me with silly questions. As I said, these years 
only represent the time necessary to deposit the rocks which 
have been formed by denundation from older rocks and 
these again from rocks of still greater antiquity.” 


THE FLIGHT TO EUROPE. 


143 


“Which are older — the rocks, the other rocks, the older 
rocks, or the world?” 

“The world, idiot; how could the rocks be resting on the 
surface of the world if the world had not emerged from 
chaos first?” 

“Oh, yes. 1 understand now.” 

“An imbecile would grasp my meaning quicker. Xow, 
assuming that the stratified rocks passed three times 
through denundation, we have a period of 72,000,000 years 
— three times 24,000,000, you know.” 

“Yes — yes. Go on. The denouement must be horribly 
fascinating.” 

“You will see how beautifully simple my theory is; Cal- 
culating from the observed thickness of the rocks down to 
the miocene tertiary and assuming a period of 8616 years 
for each foot deposited on the ocean bed — ” 

“I don’t remember you mentioning the ocean before.” 

“Your mediocre mind should have surmised that the 
ocean must have been there all the time. As I was saying, 
calculating on the above basis, a period of 1,526,750,000 
rocks — I mean years. No, it must be rocks, not years. Let 
me think it over.” 

He thought the matter over so long, that he was soon 
snoring like a calliope, to Millistoon’s relief. 

“Here’s my chance to escape,” thought the artist. “The 
mystery of the age of the world and its stratified rocks 
must remain in eternal abeyance, so far as I am con- 
cerned.” 

He quietly arose and left the cafe. As he entered the 
hallway of his home, he heard the patter of light feet and 
saw a feminine form coming down the dimly-lighted stair- 
way. Before he had recovered from his surprise, he was 


144 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


clasped in a convulsive embrace. 

“Oh, Max, my own, my darling! Forgive your foolish 
little Minette!” 

^lillistoon with difficulty disengaged himself from the 
girl’s arms and stood looking at her with wonder and in- 
dignation. 

“Minette,” he at last said. “Didn’t 1 forbid you to come 
back here. Go — instantly.” 

How radiantly beautiful she was! All traces of the 
night’s debauch were gone. She was as fresh as a rose, as 
elegant as a countess. 

“You do not mean it, Max(” 

She burst into tears. Millistoon hesitated, wavered — 
and then took her in his arm and carried her upstairs as he 
would a baby. He placed her in a chair and looked fondly 
at her. 

“Do you know how bad you have been?” he said, look- 
ing at her as one in a dream. “Do you know that you 
nearly broke my heart? I will take you back on one con- 
dition: That you swear that you will never have anything 
more to do with Paul and that you will never leave me. 
You must take such a terrible oath, that you will be afraid 
to break it.” lie paused, then resume: “Say after me: ‘Z 
sivear that I ivill always he faithful to Maxime Millistoon 
and never leave him for others, till death doth ns part. If 
1 am false to my vow, may my soul writhe in hell for all 
eternity. I promise this before Almighty God.’ Say this, 
Minette.” 

She repeated after him, word for word. 

“Tell me how you came to go out with Paul,” said Mil- 
listoon, as they sat around the supper table, feasting and 
joking. 


THE FLIGHT TO EFKOPE. 


145 


was looking out of the window, when Paul passed on 
the other side of the street. He looked at me and rubbed 
the back of his hand across his eyes, like a man who wants 
to make sure he is not dreaming. Then an astonished 
look came into his face. He looked so ragged and miser- 
able, that I felt sorry for him.” 

“He can very well dress decently,” put in Millistoon. 
“I send him ten dollars every week. That is enough for a 
gamin.” 

“He must spend it all for 'drink. That’s the way Paul is. 
As I was saying, I felt sorry for him and made a sign to 
him and as he crossed the street, I threw him my purse. It 
was almost full of silver pieces. He picked it up quickly 
and thrusting the hand which held the prize in the bosom 
of his blouse, dodged between the passing vehicles and was 
gone. Late in the evening, he came back. He was tipsy, 
almost drunk. I told him he could not come in, but he 
begged so hard that I relented and went to the door to see 
him. Then, all of a sudden, I felt like being wicked once 
more. I scrawled that note to you and ran out of the 
house, just as I was. And we had a rum time of it. 
Moved by some queer impulse, we wanted to tell you 
goodbye. That’s why we came here this morning. After 
you put me out, I went to sleep and when I woke up, I 
lepented and felt ashamed and humiliated. T got rid of 
Paul and went to the Cathedral and, kneeling before the 
altar, promised God to be good in future; to give up drink- 
ing; to give up uny fast life; to give up Paul — yes, even 
Paul, for he tempts Tne and T cannot resist. Then I came 
here to beg your forgiveness, but you were not at home. I 
refreshed myself, put on my prettiest dress and have been 
waiting for you ever since. — Ho you forgive me?” 


THE HAUXTEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


llfj 


‘A"ou are already forgiven. And suppose I had refused 
to take you back, would you have returned to Paul and 
your old life?” 

“Xo; I would have kept my word. I may be wayward, 
but I cannot lie to God. I would have gone to the good 
Ursulines Xuns and asked them to take me.” 

“And should you find some one who offers you his pro- 
tection, would you always be faithful to him?” 

“If he married me — yes.” 

“Idl run the risk, Minette.” 

Minette gently drew back. 

“You?” she asked, in wonder. “But your parents? They 
will drive me away from their door.” 

“I was an only child and my parents are dead. Since I 
took you away from the slums, your associates have for- 
gotten you. I will take you to Paris, send you to some 
good convent for a year, at the end of which time I will 
marry you. Xo one need know your history. Two, three 
or four years from now, I can take you back to Xew Or- 
leans. Xo one will recognize in Maxime Millistoon’s wife 
the waif of Mere Jiguette’s dance hall. Idl ship Paul to 
Australia or Africa. If by some mischance your identity 
is revealed, I will defend you against the world. Love 
never finds a burden that it does not try to lift. A ship 
leaves for Havre this evening. Are you willing to go 
with me?” 

^rinette passed her arms around his neck and kissed 
him on both cheeks. 

“You are indeed the most noble-hearted man in crea- 
tion,” she said, simply. “I would follow you to the end 
of the world.” 

That evening, as Millistoon did not show up at the 


THE FLIGHT TO EUROPE. 


147 


Absinthe House, Guoneuille went to his apartments to 
hunt him up. The house was closed, not a ray of light 
being visible anywhere. After knocking for half an hour 
and receiving no response, he gave up the task and re- 
turned to Papa Frimoose’s, where he found Chainarre fast 
asleep, his hand tightly clutching the empty absinthe 
decanter. 

“Ho entertainment in this direction,” thought Guon- 
euille. “ITl go to the Cercle. I might find Dumont and 
Millistoon there.” 

Dumont was there. As soon as he saw Chainarre, he 
said: 

“There’s a letter about three feet thick in the box for 
you. I think it’s from Little Marianne, reproaching you 
for neglecting her.” 

For everybody knew that Little Marianne, the shop- 
keeper of Rue St. Ann, was deeply in love with the erratic 
artist. 

Guoneuille rang for a porter. 

“Bring that letter that’s in the office for me.” 

When the missive was brought to him, he wondered at 
its bulkiness. Then he became deathly pale and his hand 
ti’cmbled so, he could hardly break the seal. He had recog- 
nized Millistoon’s handwriting. 

He read the voluminous document — which consisted of 
twelve pages of closelyr-written foolscap — with increasing 
wonder and agitation. It was from Millistoon. He told 
him of'Minette’s return, of his having forgiven her, of his 
flight to Europe and reminded him of his promise of 
secrecy. Guoneuille read the letter over a second time, 
held it over the gas jet a few moments and then threw 


148 


THE HAU^sTED BKIUAL 01E\MBEK. 


the document into the fireplace. 

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “What a fool a man 
becomes when he falls into the meshes of a scheming, un- 
principled woman. 1 wager she will desert him inside of a 
year and come back here to Paul, with all his money and 
jewels.” Then philosophically: “It’s his business, anyhow. 
Give me an optimist, every time. It is only those who 
look at cobwebs who see spiders everywhere. As for me, 
so long as absinthe is manufactured. I’ll keep away from 
women — except Marianne. — I say, Dumont, come with me 
to Papa Erimoose’s?” 

“Well, I don’t mind, for the sake of old times. Did the 
little Marianne scold much ?” 

“Oh, yes,” observed Guoneuille, carelessly. “But she 
must get used to see me every other day now. By the way, 
did I ever tell you how I became acquainted with little 
Marianne ?” 

“Xever. Is it a romance?” 

“Quite. It began ten years ago and will end in my mak- 
ing a fool of myself. I seriously intend to marry the girl 
— some day. When we get to Papa Erimoose’s, I’ll tell 
you the story. It would make the plot for an immortal 
play.” 

“With you as the hero?” 

“I should say so.” 

“And the heroine?” 

“Little Marianne, you dullard.” 

Dumont slapped his friend on the shoulder and laughed 
merrily. 

“I beg pardon. I thought perhaps it might be — Mile. 
Absinthe.” 

“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Guoneuille. “That’s a good one 


THE FLIGHT TO EUEOPE. 


14i> 

on me. Well, let us go and woo the seductive damosel. — 
On to the Absinthe House!” 

And they left the Cercle arm in arm, singing the follow- 
ing ditty as they wended their way through the narrow 
streets of the Bohemian quarter of the town : 

’Twas almost dawn. 

I saw him stroll 
A victim of 

The flowing bowl, 

A man who thought 

Of home sweet home. 

Since there was no 
Place else to roam. 

He was at pains 
To navigate; 

Much like a cork- 
Screw was his gait. 

As in the mid- 
Dle of the road 
He ambled with 
His maudlin load. 

The East grew red 
With rosy light. 

And as I gazed 
Upon the sight, 

I heard him mur- 

Mur with a sigh: 

“The morn is broke — 

And so am I!” 

Blanche — Blanche! If you could see your lambkin 
now, what would you say? 


CHAPTER XXVL 


THE STORY OF LITTLE MARIANNE. 

Old Erimoose was overjoyed to see “that good Monsieur 
Dumont” once more in his accustomed place and was all 
smiles and attention. Chainarre was in the same position 
Guoneuille had left him two hours previous, fast asleep. 

“I would like to hear the story you promised me,” said 
Dumont, feeling that something good was in store for him, 
for Guoneuille, when sober, was a splendid raconteur. 

“It was a cold, biting Saturday night in January, ten 
years ago,” began Guoneuille. “I was comfortably seated 
in my den at the office, having completed my work, when 
I was aroused from my quietude by a shrill whistle from 
the speaking tube. I impatiently jumped to my feet, an- 
noyed by being disturbed so suddenly and vociferated 
back: 

“Well, what is itV 

“ ^Go at once to the head of St. Philip street. A woman 
has just been murdered at the Blue Light Saloon.’ 

“The Blue Light Saloon was then one of the toughest 
places in town. It was located on the levee at the head of 
the French Market. Nearly every night a disturbance of 


THE STOKY OE LITTLE MARIA^s^NE. 151 


some sort happened within this long, dingy, rambling 
structure. Now and then somebody was robbed or foully 
murdered in this den, but the proprietor had a big political 
pull, was liberal with his money whenever somebody in 
authority came around on an investigating tour, and the 
orgies were tolerated under the very eyes of the police. 

“When I reached the place, I was told the usual story — 
the woman had quarreled with her husband because he had 
refused to give her money for household expenses, and she 
had caught him spending it for drink and gambling it 
away, although he knew that the children were starving at 
home and that the last lump of coal, the last piece of fire- 
wood, had been consumed the day before. She had abused 
him, struck him in her anger and he had brutally knocked 
her down and stabbed her through the heart. When the 
police came in to arrest him, he was too stupidly drunk to 
offer any resistance, and he had been taken to prison and 
locked up before he could realize the enormiiy. of his 
offense. 

“I was leaving the saloon when I was stopped at the 
door by a tiny bit of humanity, who nioiirnfully asked me 
for a nickel ^to buy something to eat, mister.’ I was in a 
hurry to get back to the; office and write up the tragedy, 
but something in those big brown eyes looking so appeal- 
ingly into my face deterred me, and I stopped and patted 
her tangled mass of golden hair. 

“She was a child of six, but old beyond her years. Her 
face looked so pale and pinched that one who did not see 
hei slender figure would not have believed it to belong to a 
child. 

“I read the story at a glance: It was a tale of suffering 
in one of the many tenements in which the poor are 


152 


THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


crowded like sheep in a car; where the sun never strearns 
in some of the windows; where darkness is ever present in 
most of the rooms; where men sit down and think and 
think and curse the poverty which oppresses them; where 
women silently weep and children cry for bread all was 
understood as I looked at that wee, pitiful face upraised 
appealingly to mine. 

“I gave the child a dime — all the money I had, for I 
was then a poor struggling devil of a reporter — and hur- 
ried back to the office. 

“T thought they had garroted you down there,’ re- 
marked the city editor, as I rushed into the office. ‘Hurry 
up and get your copy ready, as the first form has already 
gone to press.’ 

“My pencil fairly flew over the paper as I minutely de- 
tailed the murder, and the poor little waif, with her sor- 
rowful eyes and hunger-pinched cheeks, was soon banished 
from my thoughts. We see too much every day to remem- 
ber trifling incidents. 

“One day, in the following Januaiy, while investigating 
a complaint which had been made at the office about the ill- 
treatment of slaves belonging to the malodorous Madame 
Langpalle, whose fame as a monster is still fresh and vigor- 
ous, I noticed a wistful face at the upper window of a 
poverty-stricken home. A smile of recognition lighted the 
pallid features when I looked up and I recognized the little 
tot I had befriended a few weeks previously. 

“Who was she? One of God’s worms — one out of a 
thousand in this great town of ours, whose woes and anxi- 
eties, whose joys and sorrows, are seldom known to any but 
Him. 

“I would gladly haye chatted with her, but I only had 


THE STORY OF LITTLE MAEIAYYE. 153 


enough change to pay for a ride back to the office in the 
omnibus, and I had not the heart to go up those steep, 
dingy steps, and enter that desolate room without giving 
her something to lighten her burdened life. But I would 
not go without a smile and a handwave to let her know 
that I recognized her; that of the hundreds who passed up 
and down the noisy street, there was one thinking of the 
pale little prisoner and losing his sense of selfishness as he 
flitted to and fro in the crowd. She waved her hand and 
smiled in return, and I knew we were both happier. 

“It was two or three weeks before I had occasion to go 
to the locality I had previously visited. I then suddenly 
. thought of my little friend and concluded to pay her a 
visit. As I reached the top of the insecure stairs, I over- 
heard the following conversation : 

“ ‘When will the spring time come, mother V 

“ ‘Soon, my child.’ 

“ ‘And when spring comes, shall I hear the robin sing ?’ 

“ ‘I— I hope so.’ 

“It was the child whose face I had seen at the window 
and she could no longer leave her bed. Through the half- 
open door, I could see everything. It was a room in which 
everything told of want; a mother whose haggard face and 
faded dress told of constant toil to keep the wolf away. 
There was lack of food, fuel, bedding — of everything 
needed to make that place, sarcastically called ‘home,’ en- 
durable to any one but a worm. 

“I made a slight noise to attract the attention of the 
woman. She gave a little cry of alarm on seeing me at 
the threshhold and said, gruffly; 

“ ‘Well, what do you want?’ 

. “Just then the little girl caught sight of me and her 


154 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


pallid face brightened. 

“‘Oh, mamma, he Won’t hurt youf she said, in joyous 
tones. “It is the good man who gave me a dime that day 
we did not have any coal. I say him passing down the 
street the last day I sat at the window and invited him to 
come and see me. Tell him to come in and sit down near 
me.’ 

“ ‘I beg you a thousand pardons for my rudeness, kind 
sir,’ said the woman, advancing toward me. ‘This tene- 
ment is so crowded with drunken men and quarrelsome 
people, that I thought you wanted to do us harm. Sit down 
near Marianne. She often speaks of you.’ 

“She spoke in a way which certainly proved her to be 
above the lowly element which surrounded her on every 
side. What a difference in tone, manner and demeanor 
between her apologetical evplanation, and the first words 
she had addressed me! There were no chairs in the room, 
so I sat 'down at the head of the bed, and took the wasted 
hand of the little sufferer in my own. It was so thin and 
light that I had to bend my head and look to see if I 
really grasped it, and I felt something pulling at my heart- 
strings, as I gently said: 

“ ‘Are you glad to see me, dear V ” 

“‘Oh, ever so much, mister! You are the first one who 
ever was good to me. Every night I pray for you, and ask 
God to bless you and make you rich.’ 

“ ‘Poor, little thing,’ observed the mother, ‘she thinks that 
to be rich, to have money jingling in your pockets and be 
able to buy everything you like, is the acme of happiness 
on earth. Little she knows what crimes are daily com- 
mitted for the joy of being dazzled by the glitter of gold.’ 

“I was struck by her choice expressions and remarked : • 


THE STOKY OF J.ITTLE MAKIANNE. 


155 


“ ^Pardon me, madame, but how came you to be among 
these people? From your conversation, I adduce the fact 
that you are educated and have certainly moved in higher 
circles. Please do not consider my question impertinent; I 
am warranted to ask it by the glaring contrast between 
your surroundings and your apparent refinement.’ 

“ T do not consider your question out of place, sir ; but 
I beseech you not to insist upon an explanation; at least, 
not to-day.’ 

‘Tor the first time since I came into the room, she looked 
me full in the face. The last rays of the setting sun were 
struggling through the sashless window, and shone directly 
upon her face. As I became accustomed to the semi-gloom 
which surrounded us, and our eyes met, my temples 
throbbed irregularly, and a vague feeling of wonderment 
possessed me. I had certainly seen that face before; but 
where, when and under what circumstances, was indistinct 
to my memory; and those eyes! There could be no mis- 
take. They had gazed into mine before. Of this I felt as 
certain as I did of the existence of a Supreme Being. 

“ ‘Have we not met before, madame V I hazarded. 

“ ‘Not that I remember, sir. Perhaps we met on the 
street. I earn what I sarcastically call my living by sew- 
ing for a dry goods store, and every other day I walk up 
Conde street to deliver the work I have done and get a 
few cents to keep myself and child from actual starvation. 
Perhaps you are a lawyer and met me on your way to the 
Cabildo.’ 

“But I could not remember any such meeting. The 
fancied resemblance between the features of this poor 
woman and a face I had seen somewhere in the past was 
merely a trick of my naturally romantic imagination; so. 


156 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


to dismiss the subject, I laughingly said: 

‘Well, this is perhaps the case. I meet so many people 
in the practice of my profession.’ 

“ ‘So you are a lawyer, then f 

“ ‘Yes, madame ; at your service.’ 

“She smiled sadly. 

“ ‘Thank you, sir ; but I prefer thinking of you as a 
friend than as a professional man.’ 

“I had lied purposely in telling her I was a lawyer — I 
was becoming interested in the little sufferer and her sur- 
roundings, and was afraid my prospects would be jeopar- 
dized were I to admit that I wrote for L’Abeille. Experi- 
ence had taught me that people were always on their guard 
in the presence of a newspaperman, though I can’t see why 
they should be afraid of us. 

“During our conversation, Marianne had fallen asleep, 
her hand trustingly abandoned in mine. I gently disen- 
gaged my grasp and placed a quarter in the hollow palm. 
The slender fingers closed tightly around the silver piece, 
but the child still slept. 

“ ‘Come and see us again, kind sir,’ said Marianne’s 
mother, as she bade me good-bye at the door. ‘My poor 
little girl is so happy when she sees you.’ 

“I promised to return and W’ent down the grimy stairs. 
In front of the tenement were half a dozen dirty-faced 
children romping about and pelting each other with mud- 
pies. Owing to my dexterity in dodging, my nose escaped 
receiving a thump from one of those soft missiles directed 
at a tow-headed boy of about seven, who stood near the en- 
trance. My presence put a sudden stop to the battle and 
the urchins scampered away, with the exception of the 
tow-headed boy, who seemed too surprised at my sudden 


THE STOKY OF LITTLE MARIANNE. 157 


exit to do anything. 

“ TLere is my chance to learn something about our mys- . 
terious dame above/ I thought; then, addressing the boy: 
‘Can you tell me the name of the lady who lives at the 
head of the stairs, my boy?’ 

“ ‘Naw/ was the laconic reply. 

“ T highly appreciate your politeness, my little man/ I 
resumed, sarcastically, ‘and am astonished at the unfath- 
omed fund of information you possess.’ Seeing the com- 
ical look of astonishment on his face, I added, coaxingly: 
“‘Why can’t you tell me her name?’ 

“ ‘ ’Cause she ain’t got any.’ 

“ ‘She has no name ? What do you call her ?’ 

“ ‘We calls her bughouse, ’cause she’s alius mopin’ an’ 
never talks to people. Se’s too stuck-up to talk wid folkses. 
She’s ’ristocrat, she is — Say, mister; got a siggeroot?’ 

“I had a cigar in my pocket and gave it to him. The 
little fellow hardly came up to my elbow, but I knew it 
could not do him any harm. Among these people, boys 
have the vices of men before the;v" are out of short pants. 

“I took the habit of stopping every evening at Mari- 
anne’s humble home and bringing her some dainties. My 
donations were limited to delicacies ranging in value from 
five cents to twenty-five cents; but the great improvement 
which was already noticeable in the child’s condition proved 
that it was only the lack of the bare necessaries of life 
which had caused the fragile flower to wither and grow 
weaker as the days sped on. The mother also looked hap- 
pier. There was always some one to stay with the invalid 
now. For, the days that she had to go to her employer’s, 

I ^’emained with the child, told her stories, and listened to 
her interesting chatter. She was bright and knowing be- 


158 THE HAUNTED BIHDAL CHAMBEK. 


yoiid her years. Among' other things, she told me why she 
longed to hear the robin sing. The summer before, she had 
gone with some companions to the Place d’ Arnies, and 
there seen a robin red-breast, and listened spell-bound to 
its joyous notes. She only had that pleasure once, but she 
had ever remembered how gaily he sang. 

“She said she knew that she was going to die, but she 
had no plaint. Only, as the days dragged slowly by, she 
sometimes prayed God in a whisper when she was alone: 

“‘Let that dear robin come again before 1 die!’ 

“At last March came and went, with its chill and blun^ 
dering winds. April frayed the trees with green and the 
sunshine grew warmer and more comforting each day. The 
white-faced child was carried to the window, that she might 
look out and realize that the glad spring time had come,, 
but she could not yet leave her bed. One balmy day 
in May, the neighborhood of the Place d’ Armes was 
thrilled with the loud, clear notes of a robin red-breast, who 
was swinging on the limb of a tree. But the trfills 
stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The bird seemed 
to be looking around him in search of something. He 
hopped about aimlessly and hnally Hew away. And when 
next he alighted, it was on the sill of a window on the top 
floor of a poverty-stricken home; and his feet had scarcely 
touched it, when his red breast swelled and he began to 
sing. 

“And Marianne, who had been half dreaming all day, 
lifted up her thin hands and whispered to God: 

“‘The robin has come at last! I cannot see him, but I 
hear his song and I am ready to go.’ 

“And the red-breast whirled himself about, looked down 
into the street, across the roofs and windows and sang 


THE STORY OF LITTLE MARIANNE. 159 


again. 

“And a whole square away, as the mother was hastening 
homeward, hoping and fearing and full of anxiety, she 
caught the notes of the robin’s song and looked up and 
saw him perched on the sill. A great fear clutched at her 
breast and she quickened her footsteps. Up one flight — up 
two — up three — and she threw open the door of her room 
and cried out: 

“ ‘The robin has come and robbed me of my child ! Is 
she dead, monsieur?’ 

“ ‘Ear from it, madame. She just sat up in bed to watch 
the gambols of her little feathered friend, and says she 
feels as if new life had been infused in her.’ 

“And while we held up the invalid, so that she could 
see better into the street, the red-breast was joined by his 
brown-breast and they half hid themselves among the 
young, green leaves of May and sang in chorus. And then 
they flew away with boisterous twitterings, while the over- 
joyed mother laughed and cried as she pressed her child 
to her breast. 

“But the shadow of death was hovering over the lowly 
home. The life of the child was spared, but that of the 
mother was demanded in exchange for the treasured boon. 
Worn out with ceaseless toil, the poor soul swooned in 
the street one day. I happened to be at the police station 
when the woman was brought in and at once recognized 
her. She opened her eyes and a feeble smile overspread her 
countenance. 

“ ‘Come nearer, monsieur,’ said she, ‘I want to tell you 
something before I die.’ 

“The attending physician and policemen discreetly 
moved away. They all knew me and saw by my serious 


160 


THE HAUETED BKIHAL CHAMBEK. 


look and troubled countenance that 1 knew the woman and 
was about to be entrusted with some family s-^cret. 

“ ‘You have been so good to me and my poor little girl, 
that I want to tell you a secret which for years and years 
has weighed me down with sorrow. I feel I am going to 
die, and I confide Marianne to your care. She is the only 
legacy I can leave — a legacy to me more precious than all 
the riches of this world. Will you swear, by the memory 
of your dead parents, to protect my child from the lurking 
dangers of life? Oh, kind sir, guard her against the fate 
which often awaits the child of poverty, which drags the 
soul to the lowest depths and makes the erring one the toy 
of mankind. Do you promise?’ 

“ ‘I do; but tell me who are her parents?’ 

“ ‘Yes — yes, and I must hurry, for I feel the end is near. 
T come of an old, proud Louisiana family, kind sir. My 
father’s name is — oh, my heart. Give me some water — 
quick !’ 

“She gasped, closed her eyes, and her poor soul took its 
flight to a happier home beyond the stars. 

“My first move, after seeing that the poor woman was 
decently interred, was to take little Marianne away from 
her pestiferous surroundings. I put her in charge of the 
good sisters of the Ursulines Convent. But it was a long 
time before the poor thing was able to go about and the 
attending physician advised the nuns that it would be 
harmful if she were to study too hard. So she was given 
a simple course in light studies, for she had been used too 
long to want and drudgery and her mind could not grapple 
with mathematics, history or grammar; but she was bright 
and willing to learn other things and soon became an ex- 
pert in fancy needle-work and sewing. 


THE STOEY OF JJTTLE HARIANYE. 


161 


‘^At first, I was proud of my ward and watchod with 
unabated interest the roses coming to her cheeks and the 
fragile little thing gradually bloom into a plump and 
healthy young miss; but as the years rolled by and the time 
approached for her to leave the convent, I wondered what 
I would do with her. 1 was beginning to like her too much 
and felt downhearted and morose whenever I thought that 
one of these days some enterprising young fellow would 
fall in love with her and take her away from me. Some- 
times, in the secrecy of my room, when these thoughts came 
to me, a great pain surged at my heart, and I aspired to 
punch somebody’s head — that somebody being no other per- 
son than the fellow who might make love to little Mari- 
anne. What a simpleton I was to have grown so fond of 
that slip of a girl! It was ridiculous to assume that she 
would ever care for me. In her immature mind, I was 
merely her Parrain — as she delighted to call me — her guar- 
dian, her benefactor, almost her father, and it would be 
awkward, out of place and ungenerous on my part to arro- 
gate myself the rights of a lover. She would, perhaps, 
mistaking gratitude for love, consent to become my wife, 
and when she would one day meet the one she was destined 
to adore, we would both be miserable to the end of our 
lives. 

M had, indeed, a troublesome legacy on my hands. What 
in the world would I do with the girl when her convent 
life would be over? I had no parents to take her to, living 
in bachelor apartments and having only distant relatives 
in the city, and I was yet too young a man to install her 
as my housekeeper. It would not be proper, and the gos- 
sips would ceaselessly wag their tongues from morning till 
night. I also noticed that a steady change was taking 


162 THE HAUIS^TED BEIDAL CHAMBEK. 


place in Marianne’s conduct toward me. In the beginning, 
whenever I called at the convent, which was about every 
month, she used to rush out to greet me and throw herself 
in my arms with an abandon which showed what a trust- 
ing and innocent heart she possessed; but as her dresses 
lengthened, and her little head grew a few feet nearer the 
sky, she met my embraces with a shy reserve and hung 
down hr head and blushed furiously whenever I compli- 
mented her on her beauty or accomplishments. On one 
occasion her embarrassment was so apparent when I 
pressed a kiss on her lips, that I could not help observing: 

‘Are you displeased with me, Marianne ? Have I done 
anything to offend you? Speak, my little pet.’ 

“Her lips quivered and she falteringly answered: 

“‘I feel so funny when you kiss me. I told the good 
sisters about it, and they said I should stop kissing you; 
but — ’ and here she passed her arms around my neck and 
put her head on my shoulder in the old, familiar way she 
used to do in the past; ‘but it is so hard for me to do so! 
You have been so good to me — so good to my poor mamma. 
And yet the nuns say it is a sin if I kiss you, and the 
priest scolds me and gives me a whole string of beads to 
repeat every time I go to confession.’ 

“I looked into her eyes and the whole world seemed to 
fade from view. I forgot my resolve ; I forgot everything — 
I only saw those tear-wet eyes looking straight into mine; 
that pure, innocent face, pink with emotions the child 
could not understand; those rich, red lips pursed in a re- 
bellious pout, and I felt that we were both basking in the 
delicious trance of love’s soulful influence. I strained her 
to my bosom and kissed her lips again and again. 

“ ‘Oh, please stop — please let me go,’ she pleaded, striv- 


THE STORY OF LITTLE MARIANNE. 163 


iiig to free herself. Tf one of the sisters should come in 
here, I would be expelled from the convent/^ 

“I released her and looked sheepishly at her, like a 
schoolboy caught doing something wrong. I must indeed 
have looked very comical, for the girl burst out laughing. 

^0, but you look funny, my dear Parrain/ she said, ar- 
ranging my hair with her dainty hand and straightening 
my tie. Then, in a serious tone: ‘But I don’t want you to 
kiss me any more like you just did, because — ’ 

“ ‘Because you love me,’ I added, having regained my 
composure. 

“ ‘Love you V she. repeated, looking at me in sincere won- 
der. ‘And what is love, after all? The nuns never allow 
me to read love stories; but my room-mate, Nelita Chou- 
choutte, showed me a few passages in a book she had some 
time ago, and I thought it was so nice. Tell me, Parrain, 
what is love?’ 

“ ‘Come and sit near me, on this sofa, and I’ll tell you, 
little pet.’ 

“ ‘You promise you won’t kiss me V 

“ ‘I do.’ 

“ ‘Honestly, now V 

“ ‘Honestly.’ 

“She sat beside me and I began : 

“‘Love is a gift sent direct from Heaven, little one. 
When one is in love, the sun seems to shine wdth more 
splendor; the winds pause to whisper sweet tales from 
worlds beyond the stars; the leaves in the scented forest 
dare not stir, lest their rustling should disturb the lovers’ 
train of thoughts; the streamlet sings on merrily to the 
sea; the. birds twitter melodiously and flit noiselessly about; 
the skies are beautiful and cloudless; the whole world 


164 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


seems to be in the embrace of eternal springtime, of im- 
mortal joy, peace, purity and happiness.’ 

“I had taken hold of her hand, which remained unre- 
sistingly in mine. Giving it a gentle pressure, I resumed : 

“ ‘Take our case, for example. Without knowing it, I 
have awakened in your pure heart a sentiment strangely 
sweet, tender and irresistible. The . delicious sadness which 
lurks in your eyes when I kiss your pouting lips enthralls 
me and I feel that life without you would be an eternity 
of despair. I long, with a yearning which oppresses and 
pains me, to look into your heart, to know if you really 
love me as fervently as ^ adore you and whether you say 
with me : “Thou, or no one.” ’ ” 

“She did not reply. Her eyes were intently fixed on the 
carpet and she seemed lost in thought. She presently 
looked up and said: 

“ ‘When one is constantly thinking about another, does 
that mean she is in love?’ 

“ ‘I presume so,’ I replied, amused at the drollness of her 
question. 

“ ‘Then I must love you, for I am always thinking about 
you.’ 

“The innocent frankness of her confession charmed me. 
In utter violation of my promise, I caught her in my arms 
and showered passionate kisses upon her warm, unresisting 
lips. 

“ ‘You are not a man of your word,’ she said, disengag- 
ing herself and moving away from me ; ‘but I suppose that 
is the way all lovers do, and I forgive you.’ 

“Hearing a step outside, I bid her good-bye. As I 
wended my way home, I knew that God had willed that 
our hearts should be mated and felt that all the sunshine 


THE STOKT OF LITTLE MAKIANNE. 165 


would be taken away from my life were I to lose my 
legaey. 

‘Ten years bad passed since the day I met the forlorn 
waif near the Blue Light Saloon and contributed my mite 
toward alleviating her sufferings. The time for Marianne 
to leave the Ursulines Convent was only a few weeks off. 
She was sixteen now. I was in a dilemma what to do with 
the girl. We were engaged to be married, but as my bank 
account was limited to twenty-two dollars and some odd 
cents, hardly enough to go housekeeping, I saw no hope of 
kneeling at Hymen’s altar for at least a year to come. So 
I thought the best thing to do was to bring her to live 
with my old friends, Papa and Mamam Oujatte. The old 
folks were delighted, being childless and rapidly getting 
daft for the want of something besides their store to oc- 
cupy their minds, and they opened a nondescript adjunct 
to their place of business and put Marianne in eharge.^ 
Last year they made a present of the little shop to Mari- 
anne as a New Year’s gift and the girl is happy and pros- 
perous. Oh, but she is a babbler ! She is called the second 
edition of L’Abeille, for she knows everything, and what 
she does not know, her vivid imagination supplies. She 
would make an ideal reporter. She is proud of me, Mil- 
listoon — yes, proud and contented — and boasts to everybody 
that she will soon be my wife. Well, my story is ended. 
The romance, begun amid poverty and squalor is still as 
sweet, as alluring and delightful as it was ten years ago.” 

“How old is the girl now?” 

“Twenty.” 

“And during the four years which have gone by since 
you took her away from convent, has your bank account 
remained stationary ?” 


THE IJAUATEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


IGG 


“AM; it has clwindlecl, until it is now a thing of the past. 
Absinthe and fast living did it.” 

“But you say Marianne has a prosperous business. Her 
industry and your salary should suffice for two to live com- 
fortably enough.” 

Cuoneuille straightened up and scornfully replied: 

“Do you think I want a woman to support me?” 

“Xo, but it is better than to remain betrothed indefinite- 
ly and have people talking about you. It is selfish, un- 
kmd, unnatural. The girl is young and pretty and might 
find a thousand suitors — ” 

Cuoneuille jumped to his feet. 

“What? A thousand devils! I’ll kill them, everyone of 
them. You are a fool, Dumont.” 

“I did not mean any harm,” remarked Dumont, sorry 
that he had unintentionally offended his friend. “Come, 
now, let’s talk this matter over quietly and dispassionately. 
Her parents — have you ever heard anything about them?” 

“A^ot a syllable. I think she is the daughter of an exiled 
Bourbon prince. But — Zut! Were she the offspring of a 
rag-picker, my sentiments would remain unchanged.” 

“Xobly spoken, Cuoneuille. Remember, I must be your 
best man when the auspicious event takes place.” 

“Thanks. It will happen, Dumont — some day, when I 
learn to behave myself and to love Marianne better than I 
do absinthe. Papa and Mamam Oujatte have promised 
to give the girl her dowry, so, you see, we won’t start 
bankrupts. Let us celebrate.” 

He gave an order which almost took Papa Erimoose’s 
breath away, used as he was to the vagaries and capacity 
of his guests. And when he had filled the glasses to the 
brim, he rose to his feet and assuming a pose which would 


THE STOKY OF LITTLE MAKIANNE. 167 


have aroused the envy of a Demosthenes, delivered the fol- 
lowing remarkable toast: 

“I am a poet, a dreamer, an apostle of infinity. The fu- 
ture 'C Snip ! There is no such thing as to-morrow. I sing 
of love, of joy, of life, of death — all in the same breath. 
What does it matter? I am wedded to my rhyme for all 
time to come. To-day I live — I breathe the pure air of 
love; to-morrow is veiled in darkness and dread — and may 
never come. Here’s to- the glorious present; here’s to 
Marianne and love; here’s to poetry, song, good cheer — and 
absinthe !” 

Dumont applauded and cheered and woke up Chainarre, 
who, seeing his friends in such high spirits, immediately 
began clapping his hands and yelling, only stopping when 
the absinthe bottle was passed to him by the sagacious 
Guoneuille. 

And the sun was high in the heavens when the revelers 
were sent home in carriages by Papa Erimoose. 


CHAPTEK XXVIL 


THE HEART OF A MAN. 

We must now leave our Bohemian friends for a while 
and see how Lolotte and Lucien have fared since the last 
time we were with them. 

Pierre had never returned to the little cottage in Bayou 
Boad. A few weeks after the stormy scene with Lolotte, 
he had sent for the money he had given the girl to save 
and she had returned every penny of it. She never men- 
tioned his name and Lucien never even thought about him. 
Pierre’s disappearance was to him as if a candle had been 
snuifed out amid a myriad wax tapers; as if a drop of 
water had fallen into the ocean. 

There was not much change in the life of the little 
milliner. She had put aside an old lover for a new and her 
daily existence was the same. Only, she knew what it was 
to love now and it was the only thing which made her con- 
stant drudgery endurable. She knew that when her work 
was over, she would see her lover, listen to his inexhausti- 
ble fund of pretty phrases and hear him speak again and 
again of the grand day when she would be his wife and 
queen over his home. For she had positively refused to 
allow him to kiss and caress her unless he would agree to 
marry her. And he, to humor her, had promised. 


THE HEAKT OE A MAN. 


169 


Dumont sincerely liked his dainty little sweetheart. She 
was droll, witty and entertaining and her advent into his 
humdrum life had been a welcome novelty. She amused 
and interested him. At times, when at work in his studio, 
musing over the many quaint things she had confided to 
him the evening before — ^her joys, sorrows, struggles and 
privations — something tugged at his heartstrings and he 
felt certain he really loved the girl. A moment of serious 
reflection, however, would show him how absurd such a 
thing would be. He was a patrician, the last scion of a 
long and distinguished line of ancestry; she was a child 
of the peoi^le and probably did not even know who her 
parents of the preceding generation were. She was one of 
those wild flowers which now and Then suddenly bloom 
among the lowly and thrive undefiled amid poverty and 
squalor; then wither and fade and eventually sink back 
into the mire from which they sprang. 

Yes, he really liked the girl. He meant no harm by his 
attentions to her. He saw in his wooing only a harmless 
flirtation — for even if the child did love him now, she 
would quickly forget him when her infatuation w^as over 
and go back to Pierre, who was of her own station in life 
and would no doubt make her happy. 

It is so easy to win the affections of a trusting, con- 
fiding girl, yet unlearned in the wiles and snares of this 
world. A tender glance, a little judicious flattery, a bit 
of sentimental poetry, a gentle pressure of the hand at the 
opportune moment, a stolen kiss, a whispered avowal of 
adoration — and love finds an abiding place in her breast 
and her inmost thoughts, her most sacred dreams and 
fancies, are centered upon her ideal. 

No wonder then that this neglected child, who had been 


ITU 


THE HAUA^TEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


accustomed from babyhood to jeers, taunts and drudgery, 
whose existence had been a constant struggle against want 
and abject poverty, should look with wistful eyes from the 
depths in which fate had cast her and shrine this new-found 
friend, this kind, courteous, chivalrous gentleman, upon an 
exalted pedestal, as the god of her idolatry. 

Ah, little does man know what a prize the love of a imre 
wornap is. Be she high-born or lowly, rich or poor, ig- 
norant or educated, he should deem it an honor to have 
won her heart and be willing to do all in his power to make 
her happy and disperse the clouds which gloomily over- 
cast life’s ever-changing sky. In his blind conceit, how- 
ever, after the glamour of love’s alluring dream has some- 
what paled, he. imagines that, no matter what he may do, 
she will still love him and cling to him, and he goes on 
breaking the heart he has taught to adore. But what of 
that? It is only a woman’s life blighted, only another 
chapter added to man’s perfidious selfishness and woman’s 
innate confidence and inexplicable fidelity under the most 
trying circumstances. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AFTER THE SERPENT CAME. 

Two years glided by. Pierre had never returned; but 
Lolotte did not miss him, did not even think of him now. 
8he was very happy with her handsome lover. She was as 
gay and blithe as the nightingale which hopped about the 
trees in the Place d’ Amies, cooing and billing with its 
brown-eyed mate. 

How pure, how sublime is a maiden’s love I A writer 
once said that it was like a rich incense that tills the earth 
to the cerulean blue above, engulfing the senses into but 
one reality — the blissful, entrancing present. It is the 
ambrosial nectar with which God anoints the chalice of 
fate, tinging the bitter draught with the sweetness of honey- 
dew ; at times the gateway to an entrancing future and at 
others the sole oasis in the desert of blighted hoi)es, for- 
gotten vows and broken promises. 

Every mortal must meet, sooner or later, as he journeys 
towards the sunset of life, the one who is destined to be 
the radiant star in his heaven of love, and who shall re- 
main, as the years roll on, the sole object of his inmost 
thoughts, his true and only ideal of all that is pure, noble 
and beautiful in life. 

To this simple child, this ideal was the man whose soft 


172 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


tones and suave iiatteries had brightened the monotony of 
her dreary existence and she loved him with a passion 
whose purity was sincerity grew stronger day by day. 

Lolotte’s life had always been lonely. She had grown up 
in the street, played in the gutter, suffered hunger and 
hardships. She had been sent to school so that she could 
learn to read and write because she was a pretty child and 
her father thought that with her white face, blue eyes and 
golden curls and a little education, she would be able to 
earn more money than if she was. allowed to grow up in 
ignorance; but her father had been killed in a drunken 
brawl on the levee when she was fifteen and she had been 
apprenticed to Madame Vachonette by her mother, who 
saw in that line of trade a genteel mode of employment for 
her darling child. She was now nearly twenty. Two years 
before she met Lucien Dumont, she had been betrothed to 
Pierre Latour, an honest, sturdy artisan, a skilled work- 
man in the foundry of Lagawoul Ereres. They were to be 
married in the fall of the year in which this story opens 
and she was happy with her gruff, unlettered lover, asking 
no other boon in the world but his love and protection — 
until she met the handsome, courteous, affable gentleman, 
who had been so kind to her and whose pleadings were 
irresistible. And then — the serpent came. 

It was in the spring of 1830. Lucien used to bring 
Lolotte such pretty flowers, with which she ornam.ented her 
little home. 

“From my garden,” he would tell her. 

And as they sat and talked of the future, he would 
promise to take her some day to see this great garden of 
his, to visit his home and introduce her to his sister as his 
promised wife; but he never told her who he was, except 


AFTEli THP: serpent CAxME. 


173 


that his name was Lueien Dumont and that he was rich 
enough to live without working. The fact that his name 
was Dumont was meaningless to Lolotte; it was like any 
other name. She had never heard of the famous artist, 
hidden as she was from the busy marts of life. 

‘•'Call me Lueien,’^ he had said. 

And she, loving and trusting him, was satisfied. 

One day, the little milliner’s quiet trend of thoughts re- 
ceived a startling shock. She was busily engaged in trim- 
ming a bonnet, when JMadame Vachonette walked into the 
workroom and carelessly remarked to the assembled girls: 

“Do you know that Monrieur Dumont is getting mar- 
ried ?” 

Dumont? Why, tliat was Lucien’s family nam.e! Could 
he have told Wadaine Vachonette about their engagement? 
She stole a timid, furtive glance at the modiste, certain to 
find herself the cynosure of her cold gray eyes; but the 
madame was standing listlessly in the doorway,^ looking at 
no one in iDarticular. 

“He is going to marry Mile. Madeline de St. Croix,” she 
resumed. “They don’t seem to be in a hurry, though, for 
the wedding will only take place next year.” 

She went back into the front room, leaving the girls to 
discuss the newsy tidbit among themselves. 

Mile, de St. Croix? That haughty grande-dame who was 
so exacting, so arrogant when she came into the shop to 
select her hats and capes? No, it could not be her Lueien, 
for he had only one sweetheart, his Lolotte, his “Little 
One,” as he was fond of calling her. 

That evening, when her lover called, she told him what 
she had heard. He laughed and told her it was his cousin. 
She believed him and thought no more of the incident. 


174 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAJ. CHAHBEK. 


The Sunday following, Lucien did not come, as was his 
custom. He came Thursday and explained that he had 
been ill. But he was not as loving as usual and it was a 
week before he again called. 

Spring and summer dragged by. Autumn, with its 
blustering winds and chilling breath, was gradually wither- 
ing the flowers and turning the leaves in the Place d’ Armes 
into yellow, fluttering harbingers of approaching winter. 

Lucien came seldom now. He was still kind and good 
to Lolotte, but she could see that his love was ebbing away. 
When she taxed him with indifference and raised her 
limpid blue eyes to his face, he would take her in his arms 
and swear that he loved her as much as of old and could 
not come as often on account of his art studies, which kept 
him busy night and day. He would take her to his sister 
in a few days, to prove her that he was sincere. But he 
never did and the weeks dragged on slowly for the poor 
little milliner. 


CIIAPTEK XXIX. 


TilK LK(JENl) OF THE liLI E VIOLET. 

One night in Xovember, -while Lolotte’s heart was heavy 
wtih sorrow and despair, for it was three weeks since she 
had seen her lover, she thought of an old tradition of her 
native Brittany, in which the peasants implicitly believed. 
It is a quaint, beautiful legend and is told in the follow- 
ing words in the folk-lore of Brittany: 

One quiet starlit night in June, the soul of a poet, tired 
of its stay on earth and seeking rest from care and sorrow, 
was taken up on a passing flower-scented zephyr from the 
waving fields of Brittany and carried through space, until 
it found an abode in a beautiful silver star that looked 
down on the Magic Oarden of the Souls. 

In this graden, all the fairest flowers of creation seemed 
to have been transplanted. Here the pale passion flower, 
the sweet-breathing honey-suckle, the many-hued roses, the 
silver clematis, the mignonette and the white stars of the 
jessamine, added their perfume to that of the orange, 
lemon, pomegranate and mimosa trees, which bloomed in 
all their luxuriance. In this magic garden, every blossom 
was the home of a woman’s soul, and breathed forth from 
their petals the nature of the woman whose soul lived 
therein. 


170 


THE HAEXTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


The night after the soul of the poet had entered the 
sta7-, there came into the garden a maiden fair, who knelt 
amid the flowers and gazed long and sadly at the star and 
then, bowing her head, wept for him she loved so well in 
life. As the maiden wept, her tears fell upon the ground 
and the flowers sighed and hung their heads in sympathy 
and grief. All through the summer months, the maid 
would come and weep and, as she wept, brighter grew the 
star, and the flowers wondered. One night, the maiden did 
not coine into the garden as was her custom, and the flowers 
whispered to each other, and unhappy grew the soul within 
the star as time passed on and she came no more. 

In the early spring, a wondrous thing happened. Erom 
the ground, wet by the tears of the maiden who was be- 
loved by the soul within the star, a pure white violet grew, 
and when the first sweet blossoms opened its petals, into it 
passed the soul of the gentle girl. 

That summer no rain fell for days and days in the 
Magic Garden of the Souls. Everything grew parched and 
dry. The flowers drooped and hung their heads and suf- 
fered and some that had timorous souls, died. But love 
that is divine and everlasting can never die, and so it was 
with the violet who loved and was loved by the star. 

One night, a strange thing happened. The star who 
loved the white violet fell as a drop of dew upon the little 
flower’s breast and the soul of the man and the soul of 
the maid were blended into one. 

In the spring, when the flowers bloomed again and all 
the air was filled with odors sweet, to the garden was given 
a new flower, the beautiful blue eyed Parm.a violet, an em- 
blem of love and hope — the union of the violet and star. 

And every Breton maiden knows by heart the invoca- 


THE LEGEXD OF THE BLUE VIOLET. 177 


tion of the Legend of the Blue Violet^ which runs thus: 

“If thou hast a lover and he be false to his vows, if all 
thy thoughts and all thy love should be centered in him, so 
that he be to thee more than father or mother, more than 
brother or sister, and thy heart pineth for him, do this: 
Take a blue-eyed Parma violet, press it between the leaves 
of thj^ missal and when it is dry, grind it into powder and 
put the dust in a phial, with a lock of thy lover’s hair. 
Then go to the village church at sunset, while the chimes 
are ringing in commemoration of the Annunciation to the 
Virgin Hary, fill the phial Avith holy water, murmuring 
slowly and devoutly the prayers of the Angelus. Then take 
the phial to the village witch and she will brew thee a 
potion which thou must make the false one drink and he 
will love thee faithfully ever afterwards. But take care 
not to drink the philtre thyself, for if thou tastest even a 
single drop, thou shalt die.” 

There were no witches in Xew Orleans, but there was 
Peau-d’ Or, the great Voudou Queen, and she would go to 
her. She loved him too much and to lose him would kill 
her. She had some Parma violets, given her by Lucien 
when their love was in its zenith. They were in her 
prayer-book, where she could see them every Sunday when 
she attended mass. 

And that night, while the chill November wind moaned 
and the heart of a maiden was breaking, slender, trembling 
fingers ground a blue-eyed violet into powder and put the 
dust, together Avith a lock from a false lover’s hair, into a 
phial, Avet Avith the tears from eyes as blue as the tender 
flower had been when it first felt the kiss of a budding 
love. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE GREAT SNOW STORM OF 1830. 

The winter of 1830-31 was of remarkable severity in 
Louisiana. As early as October, snow had fallen within 
fifty miles of New Orleans. Louisiana, the land of winter 
roses and balmy breezes, whose Gulf-kissed zephyrs and 
tropical verdure has furnished inspiring themes to ro- 
mancists and poets — suddenly quaked and shivered in the 
embraces of hoary Boreas, whose icy breath congealed her 
limpid bayous, her sinuous bays and lagoons and converted 
the undulating cane fields on the Cotes des Allemands into 
sterile, desolate wastes. 

Snow fell also early in November, but what is knowm as 
“The Great Snow Storm” of that year, sent its first fleecy 
messengers as a warning to the people of the city shortly 
before noon on the morning of November 26th, 1830. 

IVhat excitement there was in easy-going New Orleans. 
Ever since morning, when the first flakes fluttered aimlessly 
through the air, the whole population became mad, exhile- 
rated, delirious and business was practically suspended in 
the myriad of stores which dotted the business section of 
the town. Even law-abiding Mayor Prieur caught the 
fever and issued a proclamation, which y^as cried through 
the streets, permitting snow-balling; and it is of record 


THE CiKEAT SNOW STOFAI OF 1830. 


179 


thcit the old geiitleiiiaii himself indulged in a fierce snow- 
battle with the dignified members of the municipal coun- 
cil. 

But in the millinery shop presided over by Madame 
Vachonette, work went on as usual. She had given per- 
mission to the six girls in her employ to come to the door 
for five minutes when the snow first began falling, but 
they were paid to work and every minute lost in gaping 
contemplation of the beautiful spectacle, was so much 
money out of her pocket. So back to the work-room they 
were admonished to hurry and make up for the precious 
time wasted. There were bonnets to trim, capes to cut out 
and stitch for her fastidious clientele and she was already 
days behind in her orders. 

As a great concession, Madame Vachonette permitted 
the girls to go home at two o’clock that afternoon. The 
truth was that she was not so sure that the storm would 
not increase in violence and she wanted to reach her home 
before the streets became too choked up with snow to allow 
her carriage to pass by. She had lived in Paris long 
enough to know that snow storms are not to be trifled 
with. 

As for Lolotte, she looked upon the storm as a blessing 
of Providence. She had been to the Cathedral the evening 
before and made the prayers required and filled the phial 
with holy water, intending to go to the home of the Voudou 
Queen the coming Sunday. But it was early, only two 
o’clock, and she had time to go and return before sundown. 
She knew it was bleak and dreary, in that dismal swamp 
in the rear of the city, where the Voudous dwelt; where 
the water-snakes crawled and writhed; where the horned 
toad sat at eventide and blinked its popping eyes at the 


180 THE HAUHTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


blood-red sun; where the alligator glided cumberously 
through the foul waters; wEere the vultures sat like spec- 
tral sentinels upon the dwaidish trees, cawing and hooing 
like a thousand demons if a stranger ventured near. 

All this she knew ; and yet, to regain the love of a false- 
hearted man, she would journey to the hellish place. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


peau-d’or, the voudou queen. 

Two o’clock in the afternoon of Xovember 26th, 1830. 
A thin-clad figure paused at the threshold of Madame 
Vachonette’s millinery establishment, looking with won- 
der at the tiny white flakes floating aimlessly in the air. 

“It will soon be over,” thought little Lolotte. “Madame 
Vachonette is an alarmist.” 

She stepped outside and walked briskly up Rue Royal. 
When she reached Rue St. Pierre, she altered her course 
and went in the direction of the rear of the city — for it 
was beyond, in the wilds of the Congo Plains, in the midst 
of the lataniers, stunted trees and moss-laden willows, 
that Peau-d’Or, the great Voudou Queen, and her lieuten- 
ant, the Big Snake, had their lair. When she reached the 
Rue des Ramparts, then the furthermost habitable limits 
of the city, she shuddered at the thought of crossing the 
desolate waste of swamp-land beyond the Congo Plains 
and gathered her thin shawl closer around her shoulders. 
But she felt the little phial in the pocket of her dress and 
went on resolutely ahead. 

How bleak, how bare, how awesome the swamp was. A 


182 


THE HAUXTEH EKIHAL CHAHBEK. 


narrow path zig-zagged through the bog, winding like a 
gigantic snake as far as the eye could reach. It was cut 
deep with the tread of many, many feet which had passed 
before; for Peau-d’Or had a great following among the 
thousands of slaves in tlie city and held nightly orgies in 
the shadow of the great oaks on the banks of Bayou St. 
Jean. 

On, on she trudged. The snow was still falling steadily, 
but gently; only, the wind was cold and piercing and would 
now and then come whirring and roaring with cruel sud- 
denness over the lonesome swamp. 

She had never gone beyond the limits of the City before. 
Everything seemed strange and awe-inspiring as she 
glanced fearfully about her. How life-like the lataniers 
looked as they oscilated backward and forward at each 
fresh gust of wind. They looked like human-headed ser- 
pents growing out of the ground, with human arms, long 
and slimy, writhing like worms, each separate reed keeping 
a ceaseless undulation from root to top. x\nd the long 
grasses which bordered the path ! They coiled around 
everything they came in contact with and let it go no 
more. She felt the wet grass beat against her limbs, trying 
to wind around them and hold her fast; she saw the 
lataniers bend nearer and nearer towards her, the hideous 
black heads bobbing horribly and almost touching her face. 
She stepped in afright, her heart beating with terror, ready 
to turn back and fly. But she thought of her love, the 
rosy dawn of a new life of lasting happiness, and resolved 
not to falter in her purpose. She pinned her skirts to- 
gether between her ankles, so that the grasses could not 
reach under her dress, and putting her hands on both 
sides of her eyes, so that she could not see the lataniers, 


THE VOUDOH QUEEN. 


183 


with their bobbing black heads and squirming arms, pushed, 
eagerly forward. Presently she came to a wide clearing, 
where the ground was a few feet higher than the sur- 
rounding swamp. It was the Metairie Kidge, rising like 
an oasis out of the marsh. In the center^ of the clearing 
stood a house built of huge logs, with big knots pro- 
truding here and there, like so many guant, menacing 
black fists. In the spaces between the logs were tufts of 
thick, black Spanish moss, swarming with gray-green 
lizards, fat and sluggish, crawling over one another in 
their efforts to hide from the biting wind. And sitting at 
the door, unmindful of the snow and wind, was an old 
mulatress, shriveled and dwarfish, letting a toad eat out 
of her mouth, just as a person sometimes lets a pet bird 
peck sugar from between the lips. 

Lolotte stood as one petrified, sick and faint at the 
disgusting spectacle. 

“I can guess thy errand, my pretty one,” crooned the 
hag, in a voice strangely soft and musical for one so hide- 
ous. “Thou art in trouble and want my help.” Then, 
boastfully: “Ah, gra,nd, d^mes and proud cavaliers have 
trod the path leading to this cabin, for the fame of Peau- 
d’Or, Queen of the Youdous, is far-reaching and her power 
limitless. Come hither, child. I will not harm thee.” 

Like one under the influence of a hypnotic spell, Lolotte 
obeyed. Then Peu-d’Or, Queen of the Youdous, made her 
sit beside the big wood-fire and warm herself. And when 
her cold limbs became supple once more and she felt the 
warm blood surge through her delicate veins, she told 
Pcau-d’Or the story of her love for Lucien Dumont; told 
her of her quarrel with Pierre, of her false-hearted lover, 
of her unhappiness and of the tradition of her native 


184 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


Bretagne. 

“And I want thee to help me, great Queen,” she con- 
cluded, simply, as if it was a matter of course. 

The little black e^,es gleamed and twinkled. 

“Hast gold jewels?^ 

“No; I am only a poor working girl. He wanted to give 
me diamonds and money, but he was not my husband and 
I refused.” 

Peau-d’Or angrily flung the toad away from her. It fell 
on the floor, where it wriggled and squirmed and blinked 
its popping eyes at its hideous mistress. 

“Thou are a fool,” croaked the old hag. “Thou are 
thrice a fool; first, for having loved him; secondly, for not 
having taken his money and jewels, and lastly for coming 
here on such a mission.” Then she added, almost fiercely: 
“Thou are young and innocent and I like thee. Child, I 
would rather see thee cold and still in thy grave than the 
bride of Lucien Dumont!” 

Lolotte shuddered and looked at Peau-d’Or with wonder 
and dismay. 

The old mulatress resumed: 

“Thou art mystified, but I shall not explain. It is a 
secret locked deep in that hard heart of mine.” Then, 
after a pause: “I will Help thee, my pretty one. I want 
neither money nor favors from thee. Give me the phial. 
I shall brew the potion and help thee regain the love of 
thy false one. But I must have a drop of thy blood to 
put in the cauldron.” 

Lolotte trembled like an aspen and drew back. 

“But the legend does not say anything about blood,” she 
faltered. 

“The rites of Voudouism require it. No potion can be 


THE VOUDOU QUEEX. 


18.5 


brewed without blood — red, rich blood from the breast of a 
maiden; otherwise, the spell 'is impotent. Bare thy breast, 
child.” 

She took a long, slender needle from beneath the folds 
of her dress and advanced towards the girl. Poor Lolotte 
shrank back in terror. Then she thought of her love and 
that everything would be lost if she faltered. 

“Take my blood, take my heart, take my life!” she cried, 
deliriously. “Only, give me back the one I love. I can- 
not lose him — I would rather be tortured ; I would rather 
die!” 

She bared her breast and Peau-d’Or pierced the white 
flesh with the cruel needle and caught the blood in the 
palm of her left hand. So quickly and gently had she 
wielded the little bit of steel, that the girl felt no pain. 

“Cover thy bosom now and be near while I brew the 
drink, for thou must watch the cauldron with thine own 
eyes, if thou desirest the spell to be potent.” 

She took from a shelf a small brass cauldron, bright 
and shining, like her own bead-like eyes. She then filled 
the pot with water, and vigorously stirred the liquid with 
the hand in which the blood had remained where it had 
fallen, like a crimson blotch upon yellow parchment. She 
put the pot on the fire, where it was hottest and glowed 
brightest, and began a weird, dolorous chant, swaying her 
body to and fro and gradually pouring the contents of the 
phial into the boiling liquid. And as the w^ater boiled and 
steamed, the toad ceased its wrigglings on the floor and 
hopped upon the hag’s shoulder, watching the simmering 
cauldron, blinking its little eyes and licking with its 
needle-like tongue the wrinkled, shriveled face. At last 
the decoction was brewed. It had .simmered down to ex- 


186 


THE HAUXTEH BKlHAL CHAMBEK. 


aetly the qUcUitity a:; was originally in the phial. Peau- 
d’Or poured the liquid, now a beautiful pale-rose color, into 
tne phial and handed it to the girl, who had watched the 
ceremony without saying a word, her limpid blue eyes 
hxed all the time intently on the cauldron, just as she 
had been told to do. She was about to take the potion, 
when Peau-dT)r suddenly said, as if she had forgotten 
something : 

•‘Wait, child; 1 was about to make a terrible blunder. 
The potion must leave here in one of my own phials.’’ 

She went to the shelf, took down a phial, and poured 
the rose-hued liquid into it. 

“It is a tririe larger than thine, but I have no smaller 
size,” she explained. 

She handed the potion to Lolotte, who put it in the 
folds of her shawl, next to her heart. She did not notice 
that, though the phial was larger than the old one, it was 
full to the top. 

“Kemember, if thou tastest a drop of the liquid, thou 
diest.” 

This was the parting admonition of the Queen of the 
Voudous as Lolotte went out of the door of the hut. And 
as she watched the slim little figure gradually fade away 
in the distance, her wicked eyes glittered and she muttered 
to herself : 

“He would not have married thee, though he should 
have drunk al Ithe magic potions of my art. It is better 
that events should happen as I have planned. Lucien 
Dumont, I was thy father’s slave and he took advantage 
of my beauty and mistreated me and when he became tired 
of me, his cruelties drove me to the life of a beast; but I 
will be revenged in -the person of his son. The potion will 


THE VOUDOU QUEEN. 


187 


set fire to thy brain and thou shalt die mad, mad, madP’ 
She repeated the words with fierce exultation and 
laughed so loud and horribly, that the toad fell to the 
ground, where it wriggled and squirmed and blinked its 
popping eyes at its hideous mistress. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

THE HEAllT OF A GIRL. 


It was still daylight when Lolotte left the hut of the 
Voudou Queen and began her weary trudge back to the 
city. Her heart was buoyant with hope, for she had the 
magic potion and she heeded not the cruel, biting wind, 
the coiling grasses and the undulating lataniers and reeds, 
with their fearsome heads and arms bobbing up and 
down, keeping time with the ever-changing blasts which 
swept across the Congo Plains. 

She had reached the city now. Just as she crossed the 
Rue des Ramparts, the storm burst in all its fury and the 
snow almost blinded her. How she congratulated herself 
that she was well out of the swamps. She would have 
perished had the snow caught her there and the lataniers 
would have coiled their wriggling arms around her and 
smothered her and fought like a million deivls over her 
body. 

With downcast eyes and unsteady steps, she began her 
weary walk out Rue St. Pierre to Rue Conde, as she 
wanted to reach the Cathedral before the doors were closed 
and thank God for the successful termination of her mis- 


THE HEART OE A GIRL. 


189 


sioii. She was not alone. Hundreds of clerks, shop- girls, 
mechanics, merchants, and even capitalists, who had lin- 
gered “in town” to make snow-halls and amuse themselves, 
unable to procuse transportation, were also wending their 
way homeward, uncomplainingly jogging along, tripping 
one another in the drifts, laughing, jesting, delighted at the 
novelty of trotting home in a snow-storm in the streets 
of the boasted tropical city of the Southland. 

Everybody seemed happy; everybody laughed and jested, 
except the drooping little figure in black calico and old- 
fashioned shawl. She was lost in somber thoughts. What 
if she reached the Cathedral too late? God would think 
her ungrateful. At this thought, her heart sank and she 
quickened her steps. 

She had never had a real lover until this handsome, 
polished man of the world, with a fleeting fancy for a 
poor working-girl, had said “I love you, little one.” He 
always called her “Little One.” He had such a sweet, 
delightful way of pronouncing this pet phrase of his. 

He had wanted to give her money, fine dresses and 
jewels, but she always refused. He had begged her to 
leave Madame Vachonette’s musty old shop for his sake, 
but she had to earn a living and could not acept money 
from him unless he was her husband. So he had promised 
to marry her and had spoken of the grand wedding they 
would have in the Cathedral; how proud he would be lead- 
ing her down the center aisle, marching blithely to the 
solemn ’tones of the organ. She had believed him. It was 
Paradise and then — despair. 

On, on she trudged through the blinding snow. Xow and 
then, some gamin would throw a snowball at her and the 
cruel missile would make ‘a scarlet mark on her delicate 


190 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


skill. But she minded it not. When she reached St. An- 
thony’s Alley, she stopped and hesitated; the dark passage- 
way, running between the nigh buildings and the church, 
looked so dismal, so deserted, that her courage wavered. 
But she felt the little phial in her pocket and pressed on 
resolutely. As she turned into Conde Street, a tierce 
gust of Avind, coming directly from the River, whirled 
around the corner, chilling her to the bone. She involun- 
tarily stopped and a man hurrying behind her ran rudely 
aaginst her. She uttered a moaning cry and fell heavily 
to the ground. The man stojiped, apologized, helped her to 
rise and gently led her to the Cathedral steps, where he 
advised her to rest for a few moments and she would be all 
right. 

“I shall wait until you feel stronger and guide you 
home,” mademoiselle,” he said, kindly. “It will be quite 
dark shortly.' It is a fearful weather for a lady to be 
out in.” 

“You need not wait, monsieur,” she answered. “You did 
not hurt me and I feel I am myself again. I must have 
slipped on the ice. I am going in the church to say some 
prayers and shall remain quite a while.” 

J ust then a feeble ray of light from the oil lamp at 
the corner T'i upon the man’s face. If any of our readers 
had been pa^.-ing by, they would have recognized our old 
friend, the erratic, good-hearted Gouneuille. 

“Take good care of yourself, mademoiselle, (lood even- 
ing.” 

He courteously doffed his hat and walked away, not 
wishing to appear too obtrusive. 

Lolotte ascended the Cathedral steps. To her dismay, 
the door was securely fastened. Eor a long time she stood 


THE HEAKT OE A GH{L. 


191 


tliere, disappointed; then she thought: 

“I’ll come to-morrow evening. I hope Madame Va- 
chonette will let me go a little earlier.” 

It was quite dark now. 

She again entered the Passage St. x\ntoine and walked 
toward Kue Poyal; but, when she reached that thorough- 
fare, bewildered by the snow, she turned in the direction 
of Canal Street, thinking she was wending her way toward 
her home in Bayou Hoad, almost a mile in the opposite 
direction. 

And the snow beat against her and the wind howled ; but 
she trudged bravely on, tightly clutching the little phial 
the Voudou Queen had given her. 

How cold the wind was! Lolotte kept as close as she 
could within the shelter of the houses jutting on the street; 
but the moment came when she felt she could not proceed 
any further.. Her head Avas aching-; her teeth chattering, 
her limbs numb and hardly able to support her. 

“1 wonder if I am near home,” she thought. 

Just then she saw what appeared to be a breach in the 
wall. 

“An open door,” she said to herself. “1 may hnd shelter 
for the night among some charitable people.” 

She stumbled into the opening and fell upon something 
hard and cold. 

She groped about and discovered she had come upon a 
short flight of steps. She ascended the steps and found 
herself in a niche, where the snow had not fallen and 
where the chilling wind could not x^enetrate. 

“The entrance to some grand family mansion,” she 
thought. 

It was so warm and comfortable in that sheltered nook. 


192 


THE HAUA^TEH BKIDAJ. CHAiMBEK. 


She stretched herself upon the cold hags of the porch and 
felt her strength gradually coming back. She would rest 
for a few moments and then resume her way. Her home 
could not be far, now, for she had walked many, many 
squares. 

How she had loved him. Even after she had seen him 
arm in arm with the proud, stately Mile, de St. Croix on 
Canal street one evening, when he turned his head awaj' 
and looked indifferently in the shop windows as he saw 
her approaching, she felt certain that, deep in his heart, 
he still loved her and had acted thus not to compromise 
her in the eyes of the woman he was escorting. 

How warm and comfortable it was in that secluded cor- 
ner. Had the storm ceased? She no longer felt cold — 
only, a drowsy sensation, a feeling of sweet comfort and 
restfulness. Why go to her room, so cold and cheerless, 
with its tireless grate and innumerable crevices, through 
which the wind blew in chililng, penetrating gusts? She 
would go to sleep where she was and wake up stronger and 
more vigorous in the morning. 

Yes, she forgave him. He had given her the only 
glimpse of heaven in her barren life. She, poor, ignorant, 
despised, could not, and should not, have expected more; 
he lived and thought in a higher sphere, which she could 
never reach. She would not force him to love her. In the 
morning, she would throw the contents of the phial away 
and go back to her humdrum life. YTiile her dream 
lasted, the world seemed brighter, grander and the shadows 
dared not meet the light. And now? It would be as if 
eternal darkness had suddenly enveloped the earth; as if 
joy, happiness and hope had forever vanished. But she 
w’ould annoy him no more. She would resume her tedious 


• THE HEART OE A GIRL. 


193 


trudge along life's fhoiniy pathway — 

Rut she had fallen asleep. 

Midnight tolled from the steeple-clock of the St. Louis 
Cathedral. As the last chimes died away in the distance, 
mingling with the moan of the wind and the bluster of 
the snow, the soul of a pure-hearted maid, tired of its 
sojourn on earth, winged its flight past the darkness and 
the night, past the glittering constellations, into the region 
of silence and mist, to peace and rest, forever and forever. 


CHAPTEK XXXIII. 


THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 

‘‘Found dead in the snowF 

What a weird fascination these startling words have for 
this hardened man of the world, seated comfortably by a 
blazing fire, reading the chronicle of daily happenings in 
lyAheille de la Nouvelle-Orleansf He turns the paper 
over , tries to read other articles, but his thoughts uncon- 
sciously revert to the tale of the poor girl found dead in 
the snow, within the very shadow of his door. 

“Poor thing,” he muses, sympathetically, “if she had 
only knocked, she would have found comfort and shelter 
here. Why, Blanche would have given up half of her own 
bed to thaw her back to life. I think I’ll go and take a 
look at her.” 

Impelled by a resistless impulse, he summons his carriage 
and is soon at the morgue, mingling with the curious 
crowd grouped about the unfortunate girl, beautiful even 
in death. Someone touches his arm and a hand is held 
out to him. 

“Why, how do you do, Guoneuille. So, you too, are 
here, impelled by morbid curiosity?” 


THE WAY 01’ THE WOKLD. 


195 


“I had an idea it was someone I had met before,” ob- 
served Guoneuille. “Why, it’s the poor thing 1 bumped 
against near the Cathedral last evening. I had a pre- 
sentiment that something would Ifkppen to her.” 

And he told Dumont the incident of the evening before. 
The latter looked pensively at the calm, still face. 

“Poor child, how she must have suffered,” he remarked. 
“It would be desecration to allow her to be buried in Pot- 
ter’s Field. 1 will take charge of the body and give it a 
decent burial.” 

He has the girlish form encased in a costly coffin, pur- 
chases a flower-kissed plat in the St. Louis Cemetery, 
where the snow has fallen too gently to harm the forget- 
me-notes and roses, and with his own hands helps to lower 
the soulless clay into its final resting place. 

And Blanche, standing by the grave, her eyes dim with 
tears, for she had been very fond of the gentle, blue-eyed 
little milliner, silently presses her brother’s hand, prouder 
than ever of him, thanking God that his heart is so full of 
sympathetic charity for a frail bit of humanity, who had 
been cruelly tossed about by the turbulent billows of ad- 
vei'sity. 

And the -world, that great, presumably all-seeing Eye, 
which seeks to fathom the very souls of men, but which 
goes no deeper than the surface ? 

“What a good man,” says the world. 

The newspapers praise the unselfish generosity of the 
young artist; mothers teach their children to lisp his name 
in their daily prayers; even his sweetheart ,the proud 
!^^adeline, in whose cold bosom compassion is almost un- 
known, kisses him with more tenderness than usual that 
evening; maidens weave roseate dreams about this Che- 


19G 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEE. 


valier Bayard of the Nineteenth Century and as^k good St. 
Anthony to give them a husband as kind, as large-hearted, 
as unselfish as this ministering angel. 

Does he feel sorry ? Well, hardly. She was only a 
child of the street and the romance could not last forever. 
He had acted his role to his satisfaction in the pitiful 
drama in which this daughter of poverty had been the 
heroine and he could look the world in the face with un- 
flinching complacency. 

Such is the heart of a man; such is the way of the 
world. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


MONSIEUR BOULOTTE’s GRAND-DAUGHTER. 


Three months passed and Lolotte was now forgotten. 
Even Blanche, who had wept with sincere grief at the 
unfortunate girFs tragic end, now seldom thought about 
the incident. Carnival balls and other social functions 
diverted her mind into gayer channels. Life is too short 
to be forever brooding over the misfortunes of humanity. 

One evening, as Dumont was alternately reading and 
dozing at the Cercle des Artist, Guoneuille burst into the 
room and frantically grabbed him by the arm. 

“Dumont — Dumont! The most extraordinary thing in 
the world happened to-day I” 

am pained to hear it,” observed Dumont, making a 
wry face and gingerly feeling his arm. “Why donT you 
break a fellow’s arm and he done with it?” 

“I beg you a thousand pardons, but, you see, I am ex- 
cited—” 

“I am sorry to be able to corroborate your assertion,^ 
interrupted Dumont, moving his arm up and down and 
critically examining it. 

“Just think of it — I have unearthed little Marianne^s 
parents I” 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


It was Dumont’s turn to evince preliminary symptoms 
of excitement. 

“The deuce you say? Sit down, Guoeneuille; sit down, 
and tell me all about it.” 

Guoneuille looked about the room, but seeing only the 
attendants present, took a seat beside his friend and said, 
in a mysterious whisper: 

“She is a great-great-granddaughter of Madame Pra- 
del!” 

“The patriotic dame in whose house the Revolution of 
1768 was hatched and who sheltered and abetted Yillere, 
Lafreniere, Boisblanc and the other conspirators against 
the Spanish crown?” 

“The same.” 

“Then she is a granddaughter of old Edmond Boulotte, 
the anti-American?” 

“Yes and the sole heir to the spacious gardens where 
Madame Pradel’s conspirators feasted and plotted.” 

Dumont warmly shook his friend by the hand. 

“T congratulate you, old fellow. And now, tell me all 
about it.” 

“It’s just as much a romance as the narration of my 
meeting with little Marianne. And you- will see, if you 
listen patiently to my story, how natural it was for me 
to find a resemblance between Marianne’s mother and a 
face I have seen before. As you know. Monsieur and 
Madame Boulotte live alone with their slaves in the home 
of the old man’s grandmother. They still cherish the delu- 
sion that the City of New Orleans begins at the Esplanade 
ramparts and ends at their plantation. They have never 
been up-town since Louisiana was purchased by the Ameri- 
can and look upon that district above their plantation as a 


MOXSIECFK BOULOTTE’S GKAXDDAUGHTEK. 199 


distinct and separate city from the town founded by 
Gouverneur Bienville. To them, it is the habitat of the 
detested American, that restless, money-grasping, icono- 
clastic race, who, looking with derision upon the customs 
and traditions pi the Ancient Regime, immolate the epic 
and chivalrous upon the altar of progress and greed. For 
some reason or other, the Boulottes took quite a fancy to 
me when my parents died fifteen years ago and I have 
been a constant visitor of theirs ever since. Tuesday and 
Friday are what they call my ‘reception days’ and I am 
always sure on those days to find some special delicacy 
aw'aiting me and a comfortable rocker placed where I can 
have an undisturbed view of the semi-country landscaipe 
which melts away in the swamp beyond the city limits. 

“Monsieur Boulotte, wFo is a man of education and re- 
finement, in spite of his antagonism to modern ideas and 
innovations, often entertains me with reminiscences of the 
good old days before the French Monarch sold us like a 
herd of sheep to the Spaniards — that almost legendary 
period in the history of New Orleans, when chivalry was 
in its zenith in tfie Province" of Louisiana. 

“ ‘Ah, but those times are gone forever,’ observed Mon- 
sieur Boulotte one evening, about ten years ago, after he 
had told me how he had received that sword-thrust which 
had left such a large scare on his neck. ‘Men only think 
of money-making schemes in these days of haste and 
greed. Oh, how I hate the soulless people of -this irrever- 
ent age!’ 

“The almost sightless eyes sparkled with unconcealed 
hatred, the w^rinkled hands trembled with excitement and 
tears coursed down the furrowed cheeks. I was about to 
say a few kind words to calm the old man, when Madame 


200 THE HAUHTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


Boulotte entered. 

‘Pauvre VieuxT she remarked, going to him and 
caressing him. ‘You must excuse him, Jules. To-day is 
the anniversary of a painful incident in our lives and Ed- 
mond always feels despondent when he thinks over the ter- 
rible events of the past. p&iivre vieux! Control 

yourself, dearest.’ 

“She bent over and kissed his forehead. The old man 
raised his head and taking his wife by the hand, arose and 
went toward the mantelpiece, over which hung the portrait 
of a beautiful girl of about sixteen. I had often admired 
that pure, Madonna-like face and even written an emo- 
tional poem about the unknown original, but I had a 
vague presentiment that the subject would be a painful 
one to the old folks and had patiently waited for them to 
speak; but they had never done so. 

“For some moments, the aged couple stood gazing at the 
portrait. Finally, Monsieur Boulotte observed: 

“‘This is the sixth of February, is it not, Mamam?’ 

“ ‘Yes, Pierre.’ 

“‘Exactly twenty years, is it not?’ 

“ ‘Twenty years.’ 

“They did not seem to be aware of my presence and 
spoke in faltering tones. 

“‘Twenty years since that wretch darkened our home!^ 
resumed the old man, brokenly. ‘Twenty years — and not a 
word, not a ray of hope.’ 

“Madame Boulotte threw her arms around her husband’s 
neck. 

“‘Oh, my darling Stephanie! My innocent, my lost 
and erring child,” she moaned. ‘Shall we ever see your 
beloved face again?’ 


MONSIEUK BOULOTTE’S GKANDDAUGHTEK. 201 


“He put liis arms around her waist to steady her and 
they both sank on a sofa, where they wildly embraced each 
other and sobbed convulsively. I thought it best to leave 
the poor old souls alone, feeling I had no right to share 
in their great and mysterious sorrow, and walked out of 
the house, an involuntary tear dimming my eyes and my 
heart heavy with grief. 

“I hardly slept that night. I tossed about in bed, weav- 
ing romance after romance about Stephanie, the 6th of 
Eebruary .and the svidden mysterious grief of the old 
couple, formulating and dismissing in the same breath all 
sorts of wild and impossible theories with wearisome 
monotony.’ ’ 

Guoneuille stopped and seemed lost in thought. 

“Go on, Guoneuille,” said Dumont. “You stop at the 
most interesting part.” 

“It is a long story, Dumont, and some of the events hap- 
pened years ago. But as you want to bear it through. I’ll 
. resume. I called on the Boulottes the day following the 
events narrated above. 

“ AVhat a treat, my dear Jules,’ was Monsieur Boulotte’s 
hearty greeting. ‘I am so glad you did not wait until 
Friday — j^our day, you know — as Mamam has gone to 
make a neuvaine and I was bothering myself playing 
solitaire. We can now have a lively game of chess.’ 

“To say I was surprised, would be expressing it mildly. 
Hardly twenty-four hours previous, I had left the vener- 
able couple in the throes of a most poignant grief; and 
here was the old man, whom I expected to find plunged 
in the deepest gloom, chatting and joking like a merry 
school ?boy ! 

“ T have no work^'to do before noon and thought I w’ould 


THE HAUXTEH BIHHAE CHAMBEK. 


202 

come and bother you a while,” I exx)laiiied, a little con- 
fused. y-"' 

“He gave me a hearty hand-shake. 

“ ‘The boring is all on my side,’ he said, pleasantly. 
‘You are as welcome here as if you were a cherished son.’ 

“We seated ourselves at the little round table on the 
side gallery, where we began what promised to be a ‘lively’ 
game of chess, judging from the aggressive way in which 
my antagonist made the traditional ‘pawn to king four’ 
move. 

‘‘ ‘You beat me shamefully the k'st time we played,’ he 
said, dexterously taking my queen’s pawn with his knight, 
and chuckling at my forgetfulness in not protecting the 
piece. ‘This time, you will not win a game.’ 

“I smiled defiantly, but his words proved true. 1 lost 
three games in succession. 

“ ‘How badly you play to-day !’ exclaimed the old man, 
alter 1 had overlooked a check-mate which a novice would 
have easily prevented. ‘I think you are in love, jny dear 
J ules. What are you looking at, anyhow V 

I was seated directly in front of the window opening in 
the room where the portrait of the beautiful girl was sus- 
pended and had si)ent the entire time looking at the per- 
fect features, instead of paying attention to the game, 
dhe old man craned his neck to discover the cause of 
my diversion and as his eyes encountered the silent orbs 
of the picture, the chessman he was about fo place on the 
table fell from his nerveless fingers and he would have 
fallen had 1 not caught him in my arms. 

“‘My darling Stephanie! My poor misguided child’’ he 
cried, piteously. 

I spoke soothingly to him and he soon regained his self- 


:M()XSIEUK BOULOTTE’S (iBAXDDAUGlITEK. 203 


control. 

“‘Pardon my weakness, my dear Jules/ he said, in quav- 
ering tones. ‘The knife-thrust was given years ago, but 
the wound is still bleeding.’ He paused a moment, then 
resumed: ‘1 owe you an explanation. 1 trust you and will 
contide to you the secret which for years has caused the 
shadow of gloom to hover over our home. Come into the 
room, so that no indiscreet ear may overhear us.’ 

..e went into the room and sat in front of the mantel- 
piece. Whether on purpose or by accident, the old man 
sat with his back to the picture, while I found myself 
face to face with its attractive loveliness. And while I 
looked, a strange and unaccountable thing happened. The 
childish- care-free, innocent face no longer smiled from 
that mysterious picture. In its place was a care-worn, 
wan-featured woman of about forty — but the eyes of the 
two portraits were alike. I looked at the old man. He was 
deep in thought, his head resting between his hands. I 
aroseT walked toward the mantelpiece, rubbed my eyes 
vigorously and again scrutinized the picture — but I only 
encountered the smiling, silent, laughing face of the lovely 
girl, whose perfect, half-parted lips seemed to taunt my 
perplexity. 

“ ‘Bah,’ I thought, resuming my seat, ‘It was merely an 
hallucination, caused by my romantic imagination.’ 

“Just then. ]\Ionsieur Boulotte took his head from be- 
tween his hands and said, lowly, if his thoughts were far 
off and he was talking to himself: 

“ ‘When the events I am about to relate happened, I 
was cashier of the Banque d’ Orleans. My married life 
was happy. Wt had only one child, Stephanie, the light 
of our home and the idol of our hearts. One fateful day. 


204 THE HAUNTED BEIDAL CHAMBEK. 


a young American, who called himself Stephen Kandolph, 
came to the bank to transact some business. He repre- 
sented wealthy Eastern capitalists who desired to invest 
in suburban real estate and build a railroad to Lake Pont- 
cnartrain. But, it was all talk and bluster. They never 
accomplished anything and it was not until LeBeau, who, 
as you know, obtained the franchise, that any decisive 
steps were taken and the road actually built. But this 
has nothing to do with my story. One day, my wife and 
Stephanie stopped at the bank to let me know that they 
had reecived an invitation to take dinner at my father-in- 
law’s house and that I should come and meet them there. 
Just as I stepped into the street to escort them back to 
the family carriage, Randolph was about to enter the 
bank. He stopped short on seeing me and I could not help 
introducing him. 

“ ‘My wife and daughter, Mr. Randolph,’ I said, proud- 
ly, for his look of admiration when he noticed Stephanie 
had not escaped me. 

“ ‘He bowed, and then stepped aside to allow the ladies 
to pass. The carriage whirled away and we re-entered the 
bank. 

“ ‘ “May I have the pleasure of calling at your house, 
Mr. Boulotte?” inquired Randolph , after we had transacted 
our business. “Oh, you have a beautiful daughter, my 
dear sir,” he added, in tones which did not at all please 
me. 

“‘You are of our race, Jules, and are aware of our dis- 
inclination to allow strangers to enter our homes. We 
are hospitable and gladly help those in need, but we call a 
halt when the destinies of our daughters are menaced. T'or 
generations past our sons and daughters have taken for 


IMOXSIEUK EOUJ.OTTE’S GKAXDDAUGIITEK. 205 


helpmeets only those in whose veins runs the proud blood 
of France and Spain ; and the -audacious aliens who from 
time to time have sought to thrust themselves in our midst 
Jiave been taught lessons which they never forgot. Kan- 
dolph acted and talked like a gentleman; but 1 knew noth- 
ing about his social standing, and did not care to inquire. 
As a business man he was quite welcome; beyond this I 
was not willing that our relations should extend. I felt 
like slapping his face for his impudent familiarity; but he 
was a wealthy client, whose business the bank desired to 
keep, and it was best to be diplomatic. 

“ ‘ “My famil3' is limited to three, Mr. llandolph — my 
wife, my daughter and myself,” I observed, with studied 
politeness. “Stephanie is too young to receive compands 
she is a mere child — barely seventeen years of age. We 
never have visitors, and jmu will hnd us dull entertainers, 
I am sure.” 

“ fl could see by the way his face flushed that he under- 
stood m3' hidden motive, but he gave no outward evidenec 
of displeasure. On the contraiy, he argued that I certainly 
underrated b3’ abilities as an entertainer; that he would 
take the risk, at all events, and make his first visit the fol- 
lowing Tuesda3'. I told him 1 appreciated the honor he 
was doing me; had he been a mind reader, however, he 
would have discovered that I felt more like giving him a 
good drubbing than tendering him the hospitalities of my 
home. 

“ ‘That night, T told 1113' wife about Randolph’s intended 
visit. Stephanie, who had been unusuall3' serious during 
the evening, having complained of a slight headache, gave 
a start and gail3' observed : 

“‘“Oh, T am so glad, pap! He is such a nice, hand- 


2U0 THE HAUETEH BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


some geiitlema]! !” 

‘‘ T was dumbfouiKled at this outbreak. 

“ ^ “You forget yourself, mademoiselle!” I said, sternly. 
‘Let it be the last time that I hear you speak so Hippautly.” 

“ ‘Stephanie lowered her eyes. Her lips quivered, and 
she threw her arms around her mother’s neck and sobbed 
as if her heart would break. 

“‘“Oh, mamma, mamma!” she cried “Papa has scolded 
me !” 

“ ‘It was the first time 1 had ever spoken harshly to 
her!” 

“Here Monsieur Boulotte stopped, and for several min- 
utes remained silent. 1 could see there was a terrible 
mental struggle oppressing him. Poor old man! I could 
guess in advance the sequel of the stranger’s advent into 
his happy home. Presently, he resumed in low, scarcely 
audible tones, as if speaking to himself : 

“ ‘He came as promised and every Tuesday thereafter 
or about six Weeks." 1 never "allowed Stephanie to come 
into the parlor while he was present. He did not seem to 
miss her, never speaking about her and I thought he had 
dismissed her from his mind. There is where 1 made the 
error of my life. Had 1 killed him when he asked per- 
mission to visit my house, I would have been spared all 
these years of torment and grieving. The deception of 
the despicable wretch come upon me like a thunderclap- 
one day. Stephanie not coming down to breakfast, her 
mother went to her room, thinking she was ill, for she had 
been acting strangely the day before and had laughingly 
answered that it was merely an illusion on our part when 
we remarked that she seemed ill. I was just about pouring 
milk into my cup, when I heard a piercing scream, and the 


MONSIEUK EOULOTTE’S GRANDDAECJIITER. 207 


noise of some heavy body ^striking the door reached my 
ears. 1 bounded upstairs, and as 1 rushed into Stephanie’s 
room, 1 came upon the senseless form of my wife. 1 gave 
a glance about the room, seeking for an explanation, and 
the sight which met my eyes caused my senses to reel — 
Stephanie’s bed had not been occupied that night ! It was 
only by a great mental effort that 1 did not swoon — the 
shock was so great and unexpected. 1 noticed a piece of 
paper pinned to the curtains ot the bed. 1 grasped it and 
read the following words, written in trembling, tear-be- 
s:neared characters: 

“ ‘ “1 loved him too much and have gone with him. J 
knew you would kill me if 1 told you.” 

“ ‘The days which followed are a iierfect blank to me. 
I was told afterward that the slaves had rushed out of the 
house and raised an outcry, telling the neighbors that we 
had been killed by some unknown assassin. The neighbors 
rushed in and found us lying senseless on the door. My 
wife was brought back to life -in a few moments, but it was 
months before I fully recovered my faculties. Since that 

day, we have lived apart from the world, praying and 

hoping that our little Stephanie will come tripping down 
the street one of these evenings, greet us in the same old 

sweet way she used to do when she was our idol and kiss 

away the tears from our cheeks!’” 

“Poor iMonsieur Eoulotte! I remained with him until 
his wife’s return and then went home to ponder over the 
sad romance which had darkened the lives of the good 
old souls. Ah! one almost feels impelled to tax God with 
injustice when the searcnlight of compassion brings into 
view the undeserved miseries which oppress humanity.” 

Again Guoiieuille stojiped in his narration and gazed 


20S 


THE HAUNTED BPJDAL CHAMBER. 


fixedly at his listener. 

“That can’t be all,” observed Dumont. “You have not 
yet told me how you came to find out that the Boulottes 
were little Marianne’s grand-parents.” 

“I’ll come to that in time. What I have been teling you 
is simply the preamble and happened years ago. Great 
heavens, what a fool I have been all these years !” 

“I entreat you to answer my question,” said Dumont, 
persuasively. 

“I am an ass, the son of an ass and the grandson of an 
ass. I never had, have not, and never will have a grain of 
common sense. Just think of it — it took me nearly fifteen 
years to discover that little Marianne was the grand-daugh- 
ter of the Boulottes!” 

Dumont arose and nervously paced up and down the 
room. 

“I admit that you are the most stupendous imbecile the 
world has ever had or ever will produce,” he said, impa- 
tiently. “I agree with you and approve every word you 
have just uttered — but for the land’s sake tell me what you 
ought to have divulged an hour ago: How the deuce did 
you find out the relationship between little Marianne and 
the Boulottes?” 

“Sit down, Dumont — sit down, and I’ll tell you all in a 
few words,” resumed Guoneuille, ominously shaking his 
head. “The funniest thing in the world — the climax of 
this most extraordinary narrative — happened this morning. 
I have been promising the Boulottes for a long time to 
bring my finacee to see them. I stopped at the shop to 
take 'Marianne with me this morning, but she had gone 
to Vachonette’s to order a new Spring hat. I left word 
for her to put on her most stylish dress and to come and 


MOXSIEUK BOULOTTE’S GRANDDAUGHTER. 209 


meet me at the Boulottes. I am sans facon with the old 
folks and knew they would not mind ^whether we came 
singly or together. In the meantime, I could play chess 
with old Boulotte, instead of waiting at the store for 
Marianne and being bored to death by the Oujatte couple. 
As I entered the long walk which leads to the house, I saw 
the eager faces of Monsieur and Madame Boulotte pressed 
against the window-pane, as if they expected someone. 
Then, like a flash, I remembered that it was the 6th of 
Eebruary and that every year it was the same vigil, from 
early morn until late in the evening. The old folks had 
the insane idea that their long-lost daughter would return 
on the anniversary of the day of her flight and their faith 
in the delusion seemed to me one of the most pathetic 
vagaries of the human mind which had ever come into my 
notice. Admitting that their daughter would return, how 
in the world would they recognize her? The twenty years 
of exile had certainly greatly changed her and, instead of 
a happy, romping, care-free girl, they would clasp to their 
bosom a woman of mature years, no doubt broken in spirit 
and weighed down with sorrows and grief. 

The couple greeted me pleasantly, but they seemed more 
daft than ever. 

“ H cannot account for it, my dear Jules,’ observed the 
old man, Tut I feel that our little Stephanie wil soon be 
with us. Do you not feel that way also, Mamam?’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ answered the old lady. ‘Every evening for the 
past week I have sat here, so as to stretch forth my arms 
to clasp her as soon as she comes into sight. She is com- 
ing, mon vieux — I know it; I feel it. — To-day is the 6th 
of February, you know. Papa.” 

“ ‘Yes, Mamam.’ 


210 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


“They seemed to have forgotten my presence and were 
again anxiously peering through the window. I began to 
feel sorry that I had unintentionally selected to-day to 
make the presentation. So I said nothing to them about 
Marianne’s coming, intending to leave after a few moments 
and intercept the girl on the way, giving her some excuse 
or other for having changed my mind. I had been chatting 
with the old folks for about half an hour when Madame 
Boulotte, who had not left the window for a second, sud- 
denly veered about and excitelly cried: 

“ ‘Papa — Papa !’ Come quick ! Our lost lamb has .re- 
turned to the fold !’ 

“The old man hobbled to the window and eagerly looked 
out. I glanced over his shoulder and saw little Marianne, 
coming leisurely up the garden-path, stopping now and 
then to pluck a flower. She presently looked up and see- 
ing us, gaily waved her hand and ran toward us. Like 
one in a dream, I went to meet her, wondering whether I 
had not myself become suddenly daft, so strange and 
unreal did the scene appear. The old folks were in a sort 
of rhapsodic trance and seemed glued to the window. 

“ ‘My fiancee,’ I said, coming in with Marianne. 

“What immediately happened would take a lifetime to 
depict and a century to forget. With a cry of delirious 
joy, the old folks caught hold of the astonished girl and 
wildly embraced and caressed her. 

“ ‘Our Stephanie — our lost lamb — our treasure !’ they 
cried in chorus. 

“Marianne, having already been told by me that the 
Boulottes were eccentric to the extreme, thought that this 
was one of the star numbers of the programme of intro- 
duction, for she returned their caresses, called them en- 


MOXSIEUK BOULOTTE’S GRAXDDAUGHTER. 211 


Jeariiig terms and finally gently disengaged herself from 
their encircling arms and gazed curiously about the room. 
As she caught sight of the portrait of the long-lost 
Stephanie, she gave a start of surprise and walked up to 
the mantelpiece. 

“‘Parrain — Parra 'm!’ she cried, joyously. ‘How in the 
world did you get my picture painted, when I never sat 
for it? It is by Millistoon? Am I that pretty?’ 

“I looked at Marianne, then at the portrait — both 
features were the same and I was ready to swear that it 
was Marianne’s and not Stephanie’s sweet face which 
smiled upon me from the old gilt frame. A shaft of light 
direct from heaven illumined the darkness of the past 
and I understood everything. And as I gazed upon that 
mysterious picture, a film came over my eyes and the same 
change I had noticed years ago took place. Again I saw 
looking dowm upon me the face of the sad-eyed woman I 
had met in the garret of a miserable hovel years ago and 
who had died like a dog in the street. What demon of 
pride must have possessed her! What misery, what an- 
guish-of body and soul she must have gone’through, know- 
ing that her parents were almost within calling distance, 
yet, to atone for a sin which no doubt weighed upon her 
like lead, she kept on the useless struggle against adver- 
sity? All these thoughts whirled through my mind like 
a flash of lightning. I pressed my hands to my temples, 
the room whirled around like a Maelstrom and I sank 
upon a sofa. When I came to myself, Marianne was bend- 
ing over me. 

“ ‘How you frightened me !’ she exclaimed, looking anx- 
iously into my face. ‘It must have been a sudden attack 
of -vertigo.’ 


212 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


‘Yes, I have been writing too much lately. Bni all 
right now. Where are the old folks?’ 

“ ‘I put them to bed. They said they felt sleepy and 
wanted no one but their ‘darling Stephanie’ to attend to 
them. They are the looniest’ — 

“‘Hush, little sweetheart! You must respect them. Sit 
down beside me and I’ll tell jou a story.’ 

“I told her everything, Dumont. There was no use 
hiding. She is a bright girl and I did not need to go into 
Qiinecessary details. I advised her that it was best tn 
humor the old folks and let them believe she was their 
long-lost daughter instead of their grand-daughter, as they 
had only a few years yet to remain on earth and were 
happy in their strange delusion. 

“ ‘I shall do as you say, my dear Parrain/ she replied, 
thoughtfully. ‘It does seem odd, though, when one comes 
to think it over. Just think of it — I am my own mother!’ 

“Little Marianne is a most extraordinary girl. She ac- 
cepted the transition from a pauper to an heiress as a mat- 
ter of course. And here the matter rests, Dumont. The 
little humbug has installed herself with Monsieur and 
Madame Boulotte as if she had been there all her life and 
has instructed me to sell her little shop in Rue St. Ann or 
give it to someone as an offering to St. Anthony for her 
good fortune in finding her parents.” 

. Again the poet-journalist became thoughtful. Dumont 
presently aroused him from his reverie by remarking: 

“And now you have no excuse for delaying your mar- 
riage ?” 

“I don’t know about that. People will say I am a for- 
tune-hunter and that I should have married the girl long 
ago. She is young, Dumont — young, pretty and fascinat- 


MONSIEUR BOULOTTE’S GRANDDAUGHTER. 213 


ing. She will have suitors by the score now and amid the 
glitter and glamour of the new world in which she will 
move ,who knows if she will not look upon her faithful old 
Guoneuille with disgust and — and — ” 

Here he broke down and buried his head between his 
hands. 

“Come, now — brace up,” said Dumont, kindly. “Little 
Marianne loves you too dearly to forget you for a moment 
and would not swap you for a Zulu prince of any potentate 
on earth. — A brilliant idea : Suppose we make a double 
tragedy of the entire business?” 

“When is your wedding coming off?” 

“On the 12th of next month.” 

Guoneuille shook his head. 

“Too soon, Dumont — too soon. How in the world can 
the girl make her trousseau in six weeks? You are an 
ass, Dumont — a monumental one.” 

He had now regained his old-time spirits. 

“Thanks,” resumed Dumont. “I assure you, however, 
that you libel the brute creation when you call me an 
ass. — What say you to our celebrating the events of the 
day by an old-fashioned skylark at the Absinthe House?” 

“An admirable suggestion. We are sure to find Chain- 
arre there. What a pity that he has descended so low 
mentally that he won’t be able to enjoy the full spirit t)f 
our celebration!” 

They called for their hats and canes and walked out of 
the Cercle^ as gay as two schoolboys about to invade a 
forbidden orchard. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE WEDDING. 

It was ill the Spring of 1831. 

There was a great stir in and about the St. Louis 
Cathedral. Scrub-women were hurrying to and from with 
great buckets of water and big cakes of yellow soap ; work- 
men were busily engaged in tacking and fastening bunting 
and garlands of wild roses and evergreens inside the 
church; the choir was dolorously rehearsing the wedding 
march from Tanhauser; the frame-work of an awning 
stood in front of the massive door, ready to receive the 
canvas; baskets of flowers were scattered here and there. 

A laborer, carrying his tools in his hands and an enor- 
mous pipe in his mouth, seeing the unusual air of activity, 
asked a carpenter who was consolidating the frame-work of 
the awning what it all meant. 

“Monsieur Dumont, the artist, and Mile, de St. Croix, 
are going to be married this evening. — ^Why, what is the 
matter with you, man?” 

The laborer was trembling like an aspen and had 
clutched one of the awning posts for support. But he 
walked away without saying a word and the carpenter mut- 


THE WEDDING. 


215 


tered to himself, in no amiable mood: 

^‘Those drunken fellows are a nuisance. If he had 
caught hold of the other post, instead of the braced one, the 
whole business would have tumbled to the ground.” 

And he resumed his work, looking with uneasy sus- 
picion at every passer-by. 

The ceremony was for live o’clock, but long before that 
hour, the church was filled with the fashionable world of 
New Orleans, decked in its daintiest finery, chatting, 
laughing, criticising, impatiently waiting the arrival of the 
bridal party. 

At last there was a subdued bustle in the choir and the 
organist began playing slowly a. sweet, soft tune. First, 
a ripple of plaintive modulation, then a dreamy melody, 
with soft, minor notes scattered through it like tear-drops. 
Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash of chords and the 
prelude to the wedding march began rolling its waves of 
harmony through the church, until the very walls trem- 
bled. 

Every head in the vast assemblage was instantly turned 
toward the entrance and curious eyes intently watched 
every movement of the bride and groom as they slowly 
wended their way to the altar. 

^‘Those whom God hath ordained should love, no chance 
of fate shall part. To have and to hold, to cherish, honor 
and obey, through joy and through sorrow, through glory 
or shame, for better or worst, until the solemn hour of 
death.” 

It was the voice of the priest, intoning the nuptial bene- 
diction. 

j\nd, way back in the rear of the church, a man with 
blanched face and blood-shot eyes, uttered a blasphemous 


216 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


oath and shook his clenched fist at the celebrant and the 
kneeling assemblage. What was to him the sublimity of 
God, the sanctity of the church, when the man who had 
robbed him of his sweetheart, the wretch who had wrecked 
a pure, trusting heart on the reefs of passion and lust, was 
idealized by the world and his shame condoned by the ser- 
vant of God! 



CHAPTEK XXXVI. 

THE LOVE LETTER OF A POET. 

“I wonder why Parrain does not come. We shall be late 
for the reception. Ah, someone at the gate. It must be 
he.” 

And little Marianne ran into the garden to meet — a 
messenger, who handed her a bulky envelope. 

^Trom Monsieur Guoneuille,” he said. 

With feelings of trepidation, Marianne ran to the light 
and feverishly broke the seal. A glance at the contents of 
the missive quickly dispelled whatever anxious forebodings 
she had. 

“Of all the craziest madmen,” she laughed, ^‘Parrain is 
the craziest. Instead of coming at the appointed time, 
here’s what he sends. Listen, Grandpa.” 

She sat on a footstole beside Monsieur Boulotte and read 
aloud the following remarkable communication from the 
erratic Guoneuille: 

In My Den, March 12, 1831. 

Dearest Marianne: The Mississippi Eiver at flood- 
tide is a drop of water trickling down thy window-pane, 
compared with the tears I am shedding as I think of the 


218 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


luck of that scamp of Dumont, who was this day married 
to the stately Mile. ^de St. Croix, while I, who have for 
years sighed and prayed ' for an union with my love of 
loves, am still sighing and praying. Ah, but a glint of 
silver has penetrated the clouds which so long hovered over 
us and hope tells me that ere many months have dragged 
by, my little sweetheart shall be mine. 

Sweetheart, three long hours must elapse before I shall 
see thee again — three centuries of torture and impatience. 
While counting the seconds as they slowly ebb by, my 
mind becomes reminiscent and reverts to thee, my little 
Marianne, who came into my life like a gleam of sun- 
light, warming my cold heart and guiding my footsteps 
upward to the light. 

Tt is so sweet to love and to know that one is loved. 
God has given to mankind the love of flowers and all that 
is beautiful in nature; to me He has given a priceless 
boon — my love for thee and thy love for me. 

Sweet is the breath of the evening breeze and soft its 
caressing touch; plaintive the murmur of the rustling 
leaves; gentle the sigh of the dying day. How serene, 
how rest-inspiring is nature! The whole world nods and 
seeks peace and oblivion from toil and care; the birds 
chirp to their happy mates in the shadowy foliage; the 
moon, like a spectral eye in the ethereal blue, peers timidly 
down, bathing the tree-tops with its refulgent rays. Every- 
thing proclaims contentment and happiness; but to my 
heart, it is only the ebb of one more day of anxiety, the 
beginning of another vigil, waiting for that morrow of 
happiness which the future has in store for me. 

As I sit in the solitude of my room, watching the wav- 
ering twilight melting into’ the darker shadows, I take thy 


THE LOVE J.ETTEK OE A POET. 


219 


picture from its accustomed place on the wall, where it 
smiles to me as I throw it a kiss each night and greets me 
as the sunbeams shine upon it through my lattice-bars at 
dawn. As 1 look upon thy sweet, calm face, thine eyes seek 
mine through semi-darkness, half-reproachful, half-appeal- 
ing, soothing my sorrowing heart, making the pain of 
separation less hard to bear. 

Sweetheart, there is not a moment of the day that I 
do not think of thee. Love has bewitched me. Those eyes, 
in whose glorious depths I have so often read passion and 
devotion, seem to shine with a living light to-night, pierc- 
ing the mists which separate us, blotting out the misspent 
years and bringing into life again the frail hopes that my 
weary heart thought had died in endless pain. 

“Sweetheart, I love thee!” 

Such is the confession, written in my own handwriting, 
on the back of thy picture. Simple, commonplace words, 
w'hich have been repeated by lovers from time immemorial 
and which shall be reiterated again and again until the 
world grows cold and the universe is studded anew with 
radiant constellations. 

“Sweetheart, I love thee!” 

How many times have I repeated these words? And 
yet, they always seem new. How can it bo otherwise? 
The memory of thy inelfable sweetness pursues me every- 
where, waking or dreaming, with a persistency I cannot 
resist. I feel that I cannot live without thee. I am thine. 
I am a part of thee. T sulfer if thou art sad; T grieve if 
thy heart is heavy. I have tried — God knows how hard — 
to forget; but T feel it is a useless struggle. Since I first 
met thee, I have loved thee: T will go on loving thee till 
I die. 


220 THE HAUNTED BEIDAL CHAMBEK. 


You ask me why I love thee? How can I tell, sweet- 
heart ? Like the timid dewdrop which fell from high 
heaven upon the violet’s bosom, to share its life and fate, 
you came unasked into my life and I loved thee ere I was 
aware of it. 

Thou hast made a coward of me. I am afraid to rove 
this weary world alone, lest some provoking gnome should 
taunt me and make me falter on the way. Yes, Sweet- 
heart, I need thee to guide and shelter me, through sorrow 
and through darkness, until life’s sands are spent and my 
soul hesitates on the abyss of eternity, ere returning to the 
God which gave it a temporary tenement of clay. 

Sweetheart, there is no light beneath heaven which can 
compare with thine eyes, no sound so sweet, melodious as 
thy caressing voice, when thou art near and I feel thy 
gentle hand close-pressed against my own. 

Thou art my love; thou art my dream; thou art my 
life. I am nothing; I am simply a soul — a soul aflame 
with love; a soul full of melody, singing but for thee; a 
soul ardent, with desire, sighing but for thee; a dreamful, 
adoring soul, all thine for ages and ages to come. 

Thou art my queen, my radiant night, my starry night, 
my love of loves. I am nothing. I am only a heart, an 
ardent heart, whose every pulsation is thine — a heart full 
of passionate love ... a heart thou hast conquered, sub- 
dued, made captive by thy incomparable loveliness . . . 
a heart which is thine until earth no longer whirls through 
space ... a heart which will adore thee until the stars 
which gem the universe fade into nothingness ... a heart 
all thine own until the leaves of the Judgment Book 
unfold ! 

Thou art my love, thou art my dream, thou art my life. 


THE LOVE LETTER OE A POET. 


221 


1 am no tiling'. 1 am only a soul — a soul aflame with love, 
kindled by thy potent sorcery; a dreamful soul, a soul full 
of hope and faith; a soul all thine ,in this and in worlds 
hereafter. My heart is weary with waiting, my eyes dim 
with peering into the fathomless gloom which separates us, 
eager for the sight of thy beloved face. Every shadow I 
see, every sound, every murmur 1 hear, every chirp of 
bird or cry of the night, fans the fires of impatience which 
are consuming me, makes my heart beat with sudden, op- 
pressive suddenness, makes every moment seem dull, leaden 
centuries. 

Sweetheart, I shall love thee alway. I shall never 
change. I am the same as in the past; to-morrow, the 
day after, and the weeks, months and years to come, I shall 
be unchanged. Trust me, confide in me. I shall watch 
over thee with as much tenderness, with as much vigilance 
and solicitude, as a mother watches over her sleeping 
babe. 

So, Sweetheart, come with me and rove this fickle world; 
weave with me Utopian fancies and dream the old, sweet 
dream. Those glorious eyes of thine shall be my beacon 
and guide me to azure skies impearled with radiant con- 
stellations, where love’s reign is eternal. 

Sweetheart, the moonbeams are growing brighter and 
the star-sheen proclaims the birth of one more night of 
veiled expectancy. Fondly, pensively, I take thy picture 
from its frame and as I gaze long and yearningly upon 
that calm, sweet face and kiss it again and again, the 
darkness of the past melts away. I fancy myself once 
more beside thee, with only the silent stars to witness and 
bless the happiness of two ardent hearts, the swooning of 
two dreamful souls in a kiss of passionate love. . . . The 


222 


THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEE. 


frail bit of cardboard is no longer cold, but feels warm and 
sentient to my lips. 

Sweetheart, I shall keep my lips unkissed until we meet 
again. Guoneuille. 

Marianne’s eyes were bright with delight. 

“Is it not divine. Grandpa 

But Monsieur Boulotte was fast asleep. Guoneuille’s 
inissive had proved a powerful opiate. 


CHAPTEK XXXVII. 


THE TRAGEDY. 

There was gayety and feasting in the Dumont mansion 
on the evening of the big wedding which had been the 
talk of the town for weeks previous. Lights glimmered 
everywhere; slaves, decked in holiday attire, were as nu- 
merous as bee&, waiting on the guests, rushing here and 
there at the command of some strutting gallant or capri- 
cious beauty; revelry reigned supreme. 

In a corner of the second parlor, Guoneuille was en- 
tertaining about half a dozen women — old, young and de- 
butantes. He had the reputation of being a wit and a 
something of a cynic and was very popular with the ladies, 
who were always highly amused by his drollness and bon- 
mots. 

“Woman,” he remarked, in answer to a question as to 
his opinion of the gentler sex, “is essential to the happiness 
of man and prevents him from becoming a degraded 
brute. But there is one thing wanting in her; she lacks 
discrimination.” 

“Monsieur Guoneuille,” observed Blanche, who had 
joined the group and had heard the last remark, “I object 


224 . 


THE HAUA^TED EKIDAL CHAMBER. 


to such an impeachment.” 

“It’s because you lack discrimination, mademoiselle.” 

“•You cannot prove it. I throw you the gauntlet.” 

“My dear Miss Dumont, it is impossible for a woman to 
discriminate. As comiDared with man in this respect, she 
is wofully lacking.” 

“It is man’s conceit that makes him believe such 
things,” argued Blanche. “I have been a close observer 
and I am sure that woman is not only more discriminating 
than man, but that hers is a much finer discrimination. 
Men, in their blundering way, fail utterly in discerning 
certain things which are as clear as day to the finer dis- 
crimination of women. I defy you. Monsieur Cynicus, to 
disprove this.” 

Guoneuille smiled ironically. 

“Last night,” he said, slowly, “I was talking to sixteen 
women and I told them a story a sailor had just told me, 
their reception of which convinced me conclusively that 
the point I seek to maintain is correct.” 

“Tell us the story,” chorused the group. 

“Have I your permission. Mademoiselle Blanche.” 

“Certainly, for your stories are always entertaining; but 
I warn you that I’ll be on my guard and that you will not 
be able to fool me.” 

“Hum,” said Guoneuille, “the immediate future shall 
disprove this. Here is the story : The sailor told me he had 
just returned from a long voyage and that while his ship 
was in the Pacific, the captain had picked up a ship- 
wrecked mariner on an island many leagues from the 
mainland. The case of this poor castaway was the most 
remarkable, not to say terrible, he had ever heard of or 
read, among all the tragedies of the sea. ‘The man had 


THE TEAGEDY. 


225 


lived but a day after liis rescue, but bad bad sufficient 
strength to tell bis dreadful story of suffering. He bad 
been cast on a small island where there was absolutely 
no food and only a spring of fresh water, and very little 
of that. He had saved nothing from the wreck, except a 
knife and a pair of spectacles, which happened to be in 
his pocket. He was so near-highted he could not see with- 
out glasses. There was some driftwood along the shore 
and from this he made a fire, using his spectacles as a 
sun-glass and setting in a blaze the shaving he cut from 
the wood. He kept the fire going in the hope that it 
might attract the attention of some passing vessel, but 
none came and at the end of three days he was suffering 
the most exquisite torture from hunger. Still no ship 
came and the days went by, until at last he resolved to eat 
himself.” 

The ladies gave a concert of small shrieks and drew 
closer to the narrator. 

^‘With this grim determination,” continued Guoneuille, 
“he sharpened his knife, and having torn his shirt into 
strips, with which to bind his wounds, he cut off his left 
hand half-way between the elbow and the wrist. This he 
cooked over his fire and by careful economy, prolonged 
his life. Still no ship 'came, but hunger did, and a hundred 
times worse than before. Then he cut off his right hand. 
This lasted him several days longer and hunger came 
again, but no ship. Then he cut off his left foot and 
lived off it for five days. When he was picked up, he 
was on the point of cutting off his right foot, but for- 
tunately he was saved from further self-demolition and 
cannibalism. That’s all, mesdames.” 

The story was so horrible that his listeners fairly shud- 


220 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


dered. 

“Dreadful, awful, sickening!’’ they cried simultan- 
eously, and they all began sympathizing with the terrible 
fate of the poor ship-wrecked sailor. 

Guoneuille listened to them with curious interest. 

“The other ladies to whom I told the story,” he said, 
slowly and solemnly, “received it exactly as you have 
done.” 

“And why shouldn’t they?” asked Blanche, her eyes dim 
with tears at the thought of the poor mariner’s awful fate. 

“They might have discriminated,” replied Guoneuille. 

“It is no time for discrimination, even if there was any- 
thing to discriminate,” said Blanche. “It is a case calling 
for the sympathy of all those whose hearts are not of rock.” 

“Still,” protested Guoneuille, smiling miliciously, “a 
little discrimination or discernment, or something like that, 
might have prompted the inquiry as to how the poor 
wretch could have cut off his right hand and his left foot, 
when his left hand was the first to be cut off. When the 
sailor told me the story, I told him he was a prevaricator, 
but I have not yet heard any such intimation from you or 
the other ladies to whom I narrated the painful episode. 
Good evening, mesdames. I see Chainarre beckoning to 
me and he no doubt wants me to go out for a smoke.” 

He stalked off majestically and walked out of the room 
arm-in-arm with Chainarre. 

“What an atrociously hateful man,” said Blanche. “The 
idea of concocting such a disgusting story.” 

There was profound silence for a few seconds, the women 
taking turns in looking at one another and wondering 
what it was all about, anyhow; then the music began and 
the cavaliers to whom they had promised dances came to 


THE TRAGEDY. 


227 


claim their fair partners and the incident was soon for- 
gotten in the mazy intricacies of the old-fashioned Creole 
quadrille. 

Among the notable guests at the wedding feast were 
Maxime Millistoon and his beautiful young wife. The 
artist had returned from Europe a week previous, bring- 
ing his bride with him. He had married three years be- 
fore and the union had been blessed with two childi-en, 
both girls, the prettiest little tots imaginable. Madame 
Millistoon was said to be of noble birth and had been 
adopted by the artisTs spinster aunt. The union of the 
young folks had been her life-long dream and she died 
blessing them and leaving her nephew a colossal fortune. 
At least, such was the story which Guoneuille had told 
Little Marianne and to tell Little Marianne something 
was the same as posting the news on every dead wall in 
the city, and the statement was received with unhesitating 
credulity everywhere. Society was delighted and received 
the young matron with open arms. 

The wedding-feast was the grandest the old town had 
seen for a long time. But it finally came to an end and 
Dumont was soon alone with his bride and his sister. 
It was with pardonable pride that he had led his wife into 
the home of his ancestors. Blanche had changed rooms 
with her brother, as she thought the room overlooking the 
garden would be more appropriate for the yonug couple. 
For weeks past workmen had been engaged in renovating 
the interior and a neglected rookery had been turned into 
a modern palace. There was still about the mansion an 
air of faded grandeur which suited Lucien^s antiquarian 
taste and he had purposely allowed the old facade to re- 
main untouched, not even by the painteFs brush; but the 


228 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBEK. 


rooms had all been freshly frescoed, the antique furniture 
renovated and varnished anew and the house furnished 
throughout with those contemporaneous luxuries which 
wealth, well-directed, can procure. The mansion, over a 
century old, seemed to wear its gaudy adornments with 
patrician dignity. The whole place appeared to rejoice,^ 
in its quiet way, over its restoration to respectability. 

Houses, especially those that have seen a great deal of 
life, acquire an individuality that is almost human. Lu- 
cien and his wife talked of this strange fact as they 
chatted with their guests in the brilliantly-lighted parlors, 
resplendent with their garlands of white roses and carna- 
tions. Madeline referred to the peculiar fascination which 
the old homestead had exerted over her when she first 
roamed about the spacious rooms, years ago, when she 
was a child and played with Blanche, at the time when 
Lucien, then a mere stripling, was dabbling in arts and 
letters at Spring Hill College. 

It was almost midnight when Lucien and his wife re- 
tired. They had been asleep but a few moments when 
they were aroused by a sudden cry that seemed to come 
from the hall: 

^‘Help! Help!’^ 

Lucien jumped out of bed in af right. His wife was 
sitting upright, a look of terror in her face. 

^‘Help! Help!” 

Again the awful sounds reverberated through the house. 
Seizing his sabre, Lucien rushed into the hall. He felt 
sure he would find a tragedy in full play. There was no 
one there. He thought it strange that the slaves had not 
been aroused by the cries. He ran to the parlors. They 
were both vacant. He went to the head of the stairs and 


THE TKAGEDY. 


229 


peered into the darkness. He could discern nothing. There 
was one room left — his sisteEs. He opened the door and 
the sight which met his gaze froze his blood to icy cold- 
ness. Blanche was dead and upon her bare white throat 
were the marks of murderous hands. He felt faint and 
weak and was about to fall to the floor when again he 
heard the fearful cries. 

“Help! Help!” . 

To his horror, this time the voice was his wife’s. Bush- 
ing back into her room, he fainted at the sight before him. 
When he came to his senses, hours after, the wax taper on 
the mantelpiece was burning dimly. The wind had arisen 
and in the garden and just outside the open window the 
leaves moaned like a soul in pain. Lucien feebly ap- 
proached the bed. His wife lay still arid cold in death, her 
beautiful white throat bruised and swollen. 

Then, like a flash, came back to his memory the words 
the poor little milliner had spoken, months before: 

''If ever you are false to me, I will die of a hrohen 
heart and my ghost will come hack to earth and haunt you 
and harm those who are dear to you” 

There he was found in the morning, weeping and 
raving. 


CHAPTEK XXXVIII. 


guoneuille's mystification. 

“When the devil was cast out of heaven, he fell to 
earth and broke into several pieces. His head rolled into 
Spain, his heart in Italy, his stomach into Germany, his 
arms and hands into England and his feet into Erance. 
This is why the Spaniards are so haughty, the Italians so 
amorous, the Germans so gluttonous, the English so 
grasping and the French so fond of running after women.” 

Having delivered this remarkable utterance, for the 
benefit of his friend Chainarre, whose half-closed eyes 
gave indubitable evidence that he was not feverishly in- 
terested in the peroration, Guoneuille filled the glasses in 
front of him with absinthe and handed one to Chainarre. 

“And that is why, Chainarre, having a Erenchman for 
father, a Spaniard for mother, an uncle in the palace of 
the Pope, a sister who married a German and being the 
proprietor of an English mastiff, you are the incarnation 
of all the vices under heaven. Here’s to your prototype, 
the Prince of Darkness.” 

He drained his glass to the last drop, and resumed: 

“So Millistoon is back, eh? Accompanied by his wife, 


GUONEUILLE’S MYSTIFICATION. 


231 


too. What a stunner she is. She is the niece of a marquis 
or the grand-niece of a king — I don’t remember which. 
Sly dog, that Millistoon. Runs away to Europe to hasten 
the death of an old aunt, kills and buries her, marries into 
the nobility and comes back to this sleepy old town with his 
wife, his millions and his brats. Here’s to Millistoon and 
his accessories.” 

He stopped and again helped himself to the absinthe. 

‘‘But what a feast that was to-night ! I tell you, it takes 
us boys to startle society. Dumont’s w’edding will be the 
talk of the continent. It’s a pity we did not stay for the 
dancing — but you were making such a hog of yourself, 
swilling champagne and making indecent toasts, that I 
was forced to take you away. You’ll never get used to 
respectable society. You are irredeemably depraved, only 
fit to associate with Mere Jiguette and her gang of cut- 
throats. You humiliate me. You will bring my gray hair 
in sorrow to the grave.” 

He cast a reproachful glance at his companion. The 
latter leered stupidly in reply and rubbing his finger 
against a nose whose color could vie with the gaudiest 
floral display, said: 

“Lesh have shdrink.” 

He "filled the two glasses with the greenish beverage and 
mechanically gulped dowm both in rapid succession, ignor- 
ing Gouneuille’s extended hand. Guoneuille looked fixedly 
at him and sadly shook his head. 

“To what depths of degradation can a human being 
descend,” he said, pouring himself a drink and disposing 
of it with evident satisfaction. “A fine specimen of God’s 
most noble work you are, Chainarre. You are a sot, a low, 
driveling inebriate, a blot upon the profession of men of 


232 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAHBEK. 


letters. You remind me of a story I read when I was at 
the Ecole des Beaux Arts. It told of a pilgrim who, w^hile 
trudging wearily through a forest, came to a spot where 
the path he was following branched in two different direc- 
tions. The path leading to the right was narrow and 
grass-grown and appeared to have been little traveled, 
while the path leading to the left w^as broad and well- 
trodden and multitudes could be seen walking briskily 
away in the distance. The pilgrim stopped and saw an old 
man sitting on a stone which marked the parting of the 
ways. ‘Whither goest?’ asked the old man. ‘I see but one 
way,’ answered the pilgrim. ‘I follow those who came- 
before me.’ ‘Wait,’ said the old man. ‘I am Keeper of 
the Hoads and none can pass without my permission. Look 
at the two ways. I will let thee have thy choice. Think 
well before thou choosest, for there is no turning back. 
The road to the right leads to Heaven; the one to the left, 
to gold and diamond mines, wealth untold and eternal per- 
dition. Choose.’ The pilgrim laughed loud and merrily. 
‘Let me pass, old dotard,’ he said. ‘The narrow path hath 
no charms for me.’ And, taking up his staff, he entered 
the road to the left. That’s just how you are, Chainarre. 
If you were given to choosfe between absinthe and the road 
to Heaven, you would die with an absinthe bottle glued to 
your lips.” 

He stopped and kept on gazing pityingly at his com- 
panion; then, suddenly: 

“It’s half-past eleven and I have time for a waltz 
with the bride before she retires. Dumont will never for- 
give me if I am not there to shake hands with him and 
Little Marianne will have no one to take her home. I’ll 
excuse you, Chainarre. I’ll say you have broken your leg. 


GUONEUILLE’S MYSTIFICATION. 


233 


Dumont knows your friendship for him and he’ll under- 
stand.— Can’t you tell a fellow goodnight?” 

He shook him until his teeth rattled, but he might just 
as well have tried to arouse a statue. He walked away in 
disgust and looked anxiously up and down the street. 

“Not a cab in sight,” he grumbled. “It’s only a couple 
of blocks, anyway.” 

It took him half an hour to reach Dumont’s house, 
two blocks distant. 

“Hanged if it isn’t all over,” he muttered. “I wonder 
who took Marianne home? I’ll challenge the scouldrel 
to-morrow.” 

He was about to turn back, when piercing cries came 
from the room right over where he was standing; 

“Help ! Help !” 

He stopped short and listened. Not another sound. Per- 
haps it was a hallucination, caused by the absinthe he had 
been drinking all evening? He had been told that ab- 
sinthe drinkers saw and heard things which had no ma- 
terial existence. He was about to proceed on his way, 
when again he heard the awesome cries: 

“Help! Help!” 

He could not be mistaken. It was awful reality. Per- 
haps Dumont had become suddenly insane and was mur- 
dering everybody in the house. He stumbled into the logs 
and fumbled about for the door-knob. He found it, 
turned it jerkingly and pulled vigorously at the door. To 
his surprise, the door swung open and he found himself 
in the lower hall, in complete darkness. He peered into 
the gloom and listened.' Everything was as silent as the 
grave. 

“I wonder if I really did hear cries, after all?” he 


234 


THE HAUXTEH BKIDAL CHAMBEE. 


thought. His legs were wobbling so, he had to sit on the 
bottom steps to prigvent‘^himself from falling.; • He waited 
live, ten, fifteen minutes, half an hour. Xot another 
sound. 

“Guess it was the absinthe,” he concduded. 

He arose with difficulty and stumbled into the street. He 
finally reached his home, thoughtful and mystified, resolved 
never again to drink absinthe, if he lived a thousand 
years. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


A FAMOUS MURDER TRIAL. 

The case of the State of Louisiana against Lucien Du- 
mont is still cited by the legal profession as one of the most 
extraordinary in the annals of criminal jurisprudence. 

The accused, a man of wealth, retinement and talent, in 
a moment of sudden homicidal mania, had stTangled his 
bride and his sister on the night of his wedding. The evi- 
dence, although wholly circumstantial, was overwhelming, 
lie >vas found in his room on the morning of the tragedy, 
raving like a madman. He had been taken care of by hi^ 
friends and an investigation instituted by the police. The 
slaves were closely questioned and were certain that no 
one but their master, his wife and his sister were in the 
house when they retired to their rooms in the rear of the 
house. During the night, Labiche thought he heard cries. 
He got out of his room to investigate, but tinding the door 
which led to the main house securely locked, concluded 
that it was imagination. This door was not usually locked, 
but he thought his master had done so to reassure their 
new mistress, who probably felt nervous and timorous in 
a strange house and had asked that all doors be locked. 


230 


THE HAU^^TEH BEIDAL CHAMBEK. 


No one had for a moment thought of accusing Lucien 
Dumont of the crime, but on the night of the tragedy, a 
jnan coming from his work in a foundry, called on the 
captain of police and told an extraordinary story. His 
name was Pierre Latour. The night before, while return- 
ing from an octoroon ball in Kue Bienville, he passed the 
Dumont mansion on his way home. It was probably mid- 
night or a little after. He heard a man’s voice in anger 
and a woman sobbing and thought it peculiar. Impelled 
by an inexplicable curiosity to discover what the quarrel 
was about and seeing that the street was deserted, he- 
climbed into a tree and looked over the fence. He saw a 
bright light in a room. A woman was kneeling and seemed 
to be pleading and a man was standing over her, with up- 
lifted fist, as if about to strike her. He recognized the 
artist Dumont, from his having been pointed out to him 
in the street on one occasion. 

“Well, it’s none of my business,” he had said to him- 
self. “So they also have their quarrels, those proud aristo- 
crats'? And they beat their women, too.” 

He had got down from the tree and gone home. He did 
not know that there had been a wedding in that house that 
night. He had forgotten the occurrence, until he heard 
of the double murder when he stopped at Mere Jiguette’s 
for an appetizer on his way home. lie had put this and 
that together and, being an honest man, had concluded to 
tell what he had seen to the authorities. 

For a month Dumont lingered between life and death. 
He finally recovered and was arrested, charged with the 
murder of his wife and sister. He made no defense, simply 
saying : 

“It was the wili of God.” 

“Tt was the will of God.” 


A L-'AMOrS ilUKDEK TRIAL. 


237 


This was taken as a tacit confession of guilt. 

I will not burden these pages with the tedious report 
of the trial of Dumont. The transcript of the case can be 
found in the old record room of the Supreme Court build- 
ing, in the Cabildo, on Chartres Street. It the reader de- 
sires to read the voluminous documents, Chief Clerk Tom 
McC. Hyman, or his deputy, Paul Mortimer, will court- 
eously direct him to the dusty room on the third floor, where 
he will find, yellowed by the mould of years and half- 
hidden by cobwebs and dust, the dossier of the case of 
2Vie State vs. Lucie^i Dumont. 

The trial lasted two weeks, owing to the legal tilts be- 
tween the great lawyers of the time — Dominique Seghers 
and John B. Grymes, retained by Dumont’s friends for his 
defense, and Christian Koselius, then recently appointed 
attorney general by Governor Koman, and who was making 
the effort of his life to obtain a conviction in this cause 
celebre. 

The only witness against Dumont was Pierre Latour, a 
simple laborer, totally disinterested in the outcome of the 
case, who, although subjected to a rigid cross-examination, 
never wavered in his evidence. He was not corroborated, it 
is true, hut the fact that the doors leading to the slaves’ 
quarters had been locked, and Dumont’s stubborn silence, 
• fastened the crime still more strongly upon the artist. He 
made no defense, simply saying it was the will of God. 
The jury deliberated for three days, at the end of which 
time they solemnly filed into the court-room. 

^Tlave you gentlemen agreed upon a verdict?” asked 
Judge Gastinel. 

Armand Pitot, the foreman, handed the judge a slip of 
paper, which tlie judge in turn handed to the minute 


238 


THE HAUXTEH BRIDAL CHAMBER. 


clerk. 

“Guilty; strongly reconimeuded to the mercy of the 
court,” read that oHicial. 

The prisoner was led away by Guoneuille,, who had been 
a dazed spectator during the entire trial and had not left 
his friend’s side night and day since the morning of the 
tragedy. The poor fellow, in his inmost soul, believed that 
Dumont had committed the deed in a moment of homicidal 
frenzy, which he attributed to the reaction caused by his 
abstaining altogether from drinking absinthe. 

But Dumont was not fated to die on the gallows. He 
became violently insane the day he was sentenced and died 
in a madhouse shortly afterwards. 

And so it came to pass that the little group of absinthe 
drinkers, which originally consisted of six of the most con- 
vivial spirits of the time, dwindled down to two — Guon- 
euille and Chainarre. But Guoneuille was changed now. 
He gradually weaned himself from absinthe until one day 
he sheepishly announced to Chainarre: 

- “Little,:Mar.ianne and J yvilhbe married to-morrow. ‘This 
is my last visit here.” 

And Chainarre, unable to bear the blow of a separation 
from Guoneuille, deliberately drank himself to death inside 
of six months. 


CHAPTEK XL. 


THK WATCHER BY THE GRAVE. 

If you are an early riser or a late diner and have resided 
in Xew Orleans for any length of time, you no doubt re- 
member a bent, venerable-looking old man, apparently over 
ninety years of age, who walked up North Rampart Street 
every' morning at eight and turned in the direction of the 
woods when he, reached St. Louis Street. He returned by 
the same route at sunset. 

His last appearance was in 1890. I distinctly remember 
the old pilgrim. He never missed a day. Rain or shine he 
could be seen hobbling along the broad thoroughfare, look- 
ing neither to the left nor right, heedless of the throngs of 
clerks and shopgirls which jostled against him on their way 
to or from work. And if, impelled by curiosity, you had 
taken the trouble to follow the old fellow out St. Louis 
Street, he would have led you to the St. Louis Cemetery, 
where he would kneel beside a grass-grown grave and pray 
for hours and hours. There were days when he did not 
leave the cemetery until the sexton, good-hearted old Moise 
Rodrigue, was ready to close the gate. All day he stood 
gazing at the little grave, alternately kneeling and sitting 


240 


THE IIAUETED BEIDAL CHAMBEE. 


on a chair the kind-hearted sexton had placed there for him. 
And sometimes, long after the angelus had tolled from the 
Church of St. Anthony of Padua, he- could still be seen 
liraying by the ancient tomb, his poor weak eyes dim with 
tears. And the sexton, who had learned to love and revere 
the poor old soul, would go up to him, talk to him as one 
would to a child and gently lead him away. 

Who was he? jSIo one knew. There was a tradition that 
one morning, fifty years ago, a wild-eyed, disheveled man, 
dressed the garb of a laborer, had been found stretched 
across a newly-dug grave in the St. Louis Cemetery, moan- 
ing and evidently out of his mind. He was taken to the 
Charity Hospital, where for days he lingered between life 
and death. He finally recovered and as soon as he was able 
to walk he sought the spot where he had been found that 
cold November morning. And since then, he had never 
wavered in his mournful pilgrimage to the cemetery. 

I had often met the old man and tried to draw him into 
talking to me, but he would answer my questions with a 
vacant stare, mumbling unintelligible words and hobbling 
away in an aimless sort of way. He was looked upon as a 
weak-minded dotard by the public and was given a wide 
berih by the gamins and street x\rabs, who were afraid of 
his fixed, glassy stare and mysterious mumblings; but I 
felt that beneath that impassive exterior was an under- 
current of pathos and romance, in that outspent heart was 
hidden a dark secret of the past, securely guarded from an 
obtrusive and unfeeling world. 

One Saturday morning, I attended early mass at the 
Italian Church of St. iVnthony He Padua, at the corner of 
Rampart and Conti Streets, just around the corner from the 
St. Louis Cemetery. In some inexplicable way, the idea 


THE WATCHEK BY THE GRAVE. 


241 


occurred to me to visit the old graveyard and see the little 
mound beside which the old man sat and prayed day by 
day. I often had thought of doing so, but was unwilling 
to intrude upon the sanctity of the poor mourner’s vigil 
and knew the cemetery gates were never opened before 
eight. It was then a few minutes after seven, but I knew 
that the sexton lived a few doors from the church and 
would be up preparing breakfast; so I knocked at his door 
and asked the loan of the gate key for a few moments. 
Sexton Rodrigue has known me since I was a boy and, 
after hearing my exjDlanation, willingly complied with my 
request. 

There was nothing peculiar about the grave. It was like 
hundreds of others in cities of the dead; a little mound, 
once no doubt well-kept, but now overgrown with weeds, with 
a granite slab in the centre. I tried to read the inscription 
on the gravestone, but the indentations were filled up with 
the dust and grime of years and the letters were unde- 
cipherable. I took out my pen-knife and dug around the 
letters. It was no easy task, for time and the elements had 
almost solidfied the dust and grime and the porous granite 
yielded and crumbled into small pieces as the sharp steel en- 
tered it. After a great deal of hard work, I made out with 
difficulty the following words; Sacred to the memory of/" 
then the granite had crumbled away, leaving nothing but 
a blur. Lower down, however, I could discern a few more 
letters. There was an “H,” an “mb” and an “r,” and then 
the figures “1,” “8” and “3.” It probably meant “Novem- 
ber, 183 — .” The last figure of the year was totally 
effaced. 

The mystery was now partially explained to me. It was 
the vigil of a lover by the ashes of the past, the romance of 


242 THE HAUNTED BRIDAL GHAMBER. 


a broken heart. 

As I went out of the cemetery, the venerable pilgrim 
came hobbling in. I walked homeward in deep thought, de- 
termined to make one more effort to get the old man to tell 
me his life-story. Little did I dream how soon my wish 
would become a reality. 


GHAPTER XLI. 


THE CONFESSION OF PIERRE LATOUR. 

I live only a few squares from Canal Street and, except 
on rainy days, always walk home after the day’s work is 
over. I generally go down Rampart Avenue as far as 
Beauregard Square, and then take the short cut to St. 
Claude Street through the pretty park. On the afternoon 
of the day I had visited the abandoned grave in the old St. 
Louis Cemetery, I made a slight change in my daily pro- 
gramme. I turned into Conti Street when I reached the 
Italian Church of St. Anthony de Padua, to stop and chat 
with my old friend Rodrigue and try to get some informa- 
tion about the mysterious pilgrim. 

“I have not seen him since twelve o’clock, when I brought 
him some soup and bread,” replied the sexton, in answer to 
a question as to whether the old man was still there. “I 
guess he must be there. He has his fit of staying late this 
week and won’t budge until I go after him. You can go 
and see for yourself, if you wish.” 

‘‘No; I don’t like to intrude upon the poor old soul.” 

“He will not see you unless you speak to him; and then 


244 THE IIAUXTEH BKIUAL CHAMBER 


he will only stare and resume his. praying. I am the only 
one he pays any attention to.” 

“Well, I’ll go and take a look at him. I’ll be careful not 
to disturb him.”- 

Rodrigue walked with me to the end of the alley running 
parallel with Basin Street. He shaded his eyes with his 
hand and looked toward the rear of the cemetery. 

“I can generally see him from here, but I notice that the 
chair is empty. He must be praying.” 

He turned back to the loge and I went on my way alone. 
As I neared the grave, I could see no sign of the old man. 

“He must have gone without Rodrigue seeing him,” I 
thought. 

I heard a groan and advancing nearer, saw the old man 
stretched at full length across the little mound, his face 
buried in the yielding grass. 

“The poor fellow will smother to death,” I thought. 

I went up to him and raised the snowy head from the 
ground. The glassy eyes looked into my face. 

“I am dying, monsieur. Get a priest, for my soul is 
dark with sin.” 

“Let me carry you into the sexton’s lodge,” I said. “AMu 
will be more comfortable.” 

. “No; I want to die here. Get a priest — quick! I cannot 
die like a dog.” 

I took off my coat, placed it under his“ head and ran to 
the church across the way. I explained matters to good 
Father Manorita, the pastor, and he hurried back with me. 

When we reached the grave, I remained at a distance, to 
allow the moribund to confess his sins, but he beckoned me 
to come near. 

“You can hear my confession, monsieur. The law can- 


xn : CONFESSION OF PIEKKE LATOUK. 245^ 


-aot reach me, for I will soon appear before the Throne of 
Cod.” 

He stopped, exhausted by this speech, but soon regained 
his strength. And there, in the city of the dead, with the 
silent tombs for witness, I heard the strangest confession 
which ever fell from the lips of man. I will tell it to you 
as I heard it, while the Angelus tolled from the old Italian 
Church and the glare of the ebbing day gradually melted 
into the shadows of twilight. 

Here is the stronge tale, in the simple language of the 
narrator : 

“My name is Pierre Latour. I am eighty-two years old, 
but a thousand years in sin. I have dipped my hands in 
blood until they were gory — all for the sake of revenge for 
a wrong which a million years in purgatory can never con- 
done. Sixty years ago, I was betrothed to the purest and 
most beautiful woman God has ever created. We were to 
be married in a few months, when a serpent entered our 
Eden and immediately there was discord and sorrow. He 
stole my sweetheart away and when he grew tired of her,' 
cast her aside as one does a useless toy. And she, betrayed ~ 
and dishonored, died of a broken heart. I swore to be re- 
venged. One day, in passing by the Cathedral, I was told 
that a big wedding was going to take place and the name 
mentioned was that of the man I hated. I entered the' 
church that evening with the intention of driving a dagger 
into his heart, but courage failed me. That night I passed 
by his house. It was ablaze with light and a grand ball was 
in progress. As I watched the scene of happiness, the enor- 
mity of that man’s crime came back to me and I could hear 
the voice of my beloved cry out for revenge. I slipped mn-j 
noticed into the house and hid, waiting for a chance to 


240 THE HAUNTED BKIDAL CHAMBER. 


meet Eim face to face and kill him. I waited for what 
seemed hours. The guests finally went away and the house 
was dark and silent. I crept from my hiding place, locked 
and bolted the door leading to the rear of the house, so 
that the slaves could not come to help if there was a 
struggle, and, unlocking the street-door to facilitate my 
escape, entered what I thought was the bridal room. But 
1 had made a mistake. It was his sister’s room. In my 
haste to get out, I stumbled against a chair and my knife 
fell to the floor. The girl awoke, saw me and began scream- 
ing for help. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I seized 
her by the throat and choked her until she was inanimate. 
I heard a noise in the hall and cautiously opened the door 
just in time to see the brother run by and rush down stairs. 
Then a horrible idea surged through my mind. I had 
strangled the sister, why not the wife? I ran to the wife’s 
room. She was sitting in bed, pale with terror and gurgled 
tout a fearful scream when she saw me. I rushed upon her 
with the ferocity of a wild beast, choked her until she no 
longer struggled and sprang^ out of the window into the 
.garden just as I heard hurrying footsteps in the hall. I 
could have killed him also, but thought my revenge terrible 
•enough. The next evening, I went to the police and in- 
vented a story, accusing the man I hated of having com- 
mitted the murders. Being a poor, ignorant laborer, my 
•story was believed, and he was arrested and convicted on my 
testimony. I was. delighted. But he cheated the gallows. 
He became a raving mad maniac and died a few weeks 
after his conviction.” 

He had spoken with that inexplicable strength which, ap- 
proaching death sometimes gives,, but as he stopped, his 
head sank upon, his breast and I thought all was over. He 


THE CONFESSION OF PIEEKE LATOUE. 247 


rallied, however, and said: 

“Father, give me absolution.” 

And while the good priest knelt and asked God to forgive 
the poor sinner, his soul returned to its immortal home be- 
yond the stars, to sit in judgment before One whose finding 
is unerring and whose clemency is infinite. 


CHAPTER XLIl. 


‘‘for all eternity.” 

Visitors to tHe old St. Louis Cemetery on Basin Street 
invariably stop in front of a little shaft of pure white mar- 
ble which rises over a mound near the St. Louis Street 
wall of the ancient graveyard. A dove with outstretched 
wings rests on top of the shaft and an iron railing encir- 
cles the mound. Within the enclosure is a well-kept gar- 
den, always gay with roses, violets and immortelles. Cut 
deep in the marble, in letters of gold, is the following in- 
scription : 

LITTLE LOLOTTE. 

DIED NOVEMBER 26, 1830, 

Aged 20 Years. 

PIERRE LATOUR. 

DIED NOVEMBER 26, 1890, 

Aged 82 Years. 

“For All Eternity.” 

You have perhaps wondered at the great number of years 
which elapsed between the two deaths and why the grave 


‘TOR ALL ETERNITY.” 249 

looks so new and clean and the little garden is always gay 
with multicolored flowers. You have also wondered at the 
inscription under the names: 

“For All Eternity.” 

Two simple words, whose depth of meaning only those 
who read this unpretentious romance can understand. 


THE END. 


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Publishing Two Editions Every Afternoon, 
and on Sundays a Large Morning 
Edition. 


Full Associated Press Reports every Even- 
ing and Sunday Morning. 


The Leading Democratic Journal of 
Louisiana. 

Official Journal of the City of New Orleans. 
The Most Valuable Advertising Medium. 


Sample Copies and Advertising Rates Sent 
on Application. 


I SUBSCRIPTION RATES: 

Daily— P er annum $7 00 

Six months 3 50 

. Three months 1 75 

One month 65 

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. Delivered Free Within the Eimits of the 
3 City of New Orleans and Postage 

1 Prepaid hy Mail. 

: Sunday Weekly— Per annum $1 00 

\ Six months 50 




The Mosquitoes of New Orleans 

Are exhaustively and interestingly treated in the report 
of the Mosquito Commission of the Orleans Parish Medical 
Society, reprinted from the New Orleans Medical and 
Surgical Journal and published in pamphlet form. 

The Authors of this booklet are : 

PROF. GEO. E. BEYER, 

Department op Biology of Tulane University. 

DR. O. L. POTHIER, 

Pathologist to Charity Hospital, Etc.; 

DR. M. COURET, 

Assistant Pathologist to Charity Hospital; 

AND 

Dr. I. I. LEMANN, 

Assistant Demonstrator of Microscopy N. O. 

College of Dentistry. 

The booklet is elaborately illustrated and has two 
maps, giving the localities where the festive mosquito is 
most frequent and aggressive. 

prick, - 50 cts. 


FOB SABB BY 

Tie Augustin Literary Syndicate, 

163 UNIVERSITY PLACE, 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

Remit in '2 cent stamps or by Money Order. Never 
send money by mail. 


CbcHugustin Citcrarp 
Spndicate, 

163 UNIVERSITY PLACE, 

NEW ORLEANS, - LA. 

Is prepared to fulfil the following services : 

The reading and criticism of all kinds of manuscript. 

The revision and compiling of short stories, novels, poems, 
histories, family records, text books, monographs, memorials, 
etc., with especial reference to their st3de and arrangement. 

The translation of stories, poems and articles from the 
French, German, Spanish, Italian and Latin. 

The making of correct type-writer copies of MS. at 
reasonable rates. 

The careful preparation of legal documents. 

Special attention paid to inquiries relative to the 
past history of this City and State. 

We also copy, draw up, translate or put into 
legal form. Wills, Powers of Attorney, Petitions, 
Deeds, Mortgages, Notarial Contracts and Legal 
Documents of every description. 

Researches Made in Medical Archives for a 
Reasonable Fee. 

All Work Regarded as Strictly Confidential. 

Cumberland Phone 1514. 



COLORADO 


Abounds in the Finest ycenery in 
the World, together with the 
Greatest Health and Pleasure Re- 
sorts, 

Reached via the 


DENVER 



(F. W. & D. C., and C. & S.., Rys.) 

Operating the Very Latest 
Pullman Sleepers and Cafe 
Cars, and is positively the 
Quickest Route. 

Fop Colorado literature and full informa- 
tion, call on or address: 

J. P. DOUGLASS, Gen’l Agent, ® 

708 COMMON ST., Under St. Charles Hotel, 

NEW ORLEANS, LA, || 


m 


DR. ISADORE DYER, 

Medical Building, 124 Baronne Street, 


Hours I to 4. 

Practice Limited to Diseases of the Skin. 


Grand Opera House, 

REMEMBER 



THE SUMMER OPERA Season 
begins MAY iith, 1902. 


WILL YOU BE THERE ? 

MORRIS MARKS, Manager. 


OPTICIANS, 


12 1 Carondelet Street, NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

DRAWING MATERIAL for Architects, ISurveyors and En- 
gineers, Thermometers, Barometers, Opera^ Marine 
and bpy- Glasses. 


One of the landmarks of New Orleans is 

OLD “27,” 

215 Carondelet Street, 

ARMAND PREAU, Proprietor. 

The Best always on hand. 

Bine Cold Lnnch Daily, 


gw lig 

i COLORADO I 

The grandest scenery in the world. 

411^ Go where you will leally get 4 | || 

^ A Complete Change of Climate. ^ 

Pure rarified air to breathe, 
and receive full benefit from your summer trip. 

No Mosquitoes or Malaria There. 


Go Via the 

I DENVER ROAD, 

^ (F. W. & D. C. & C. S. Rys.) 

I® i Oper^tiag-.Up;to .Date Trains, with Cafe . - 

dK Dining Cars. - , 

S QUICK SERVICE, with polite attention, 

lift Handsome illustrated literature and full 

ifft information concerning COLORADO 

S and the DENVER ROAD. 

Call on or address, 

J. P. DOUGLASS, General Agent, 

708 COMMON STREET, 

Under St. Charles Hotel. NEW ORLEANS. LA. j 



MAY 19 1902 


may 19 »90* 


The only Place in New Orleans 
to buy 

EE PIANOS 


(The Three Largest Piano Factories in the World,) 



Piano will Help to Buy a New One. 

Full Guarantee. 

Larg’est Stock and most Re- 
liable Music House in the 
South. 


The Only Book of the kind. 


Your Old 

EASY 

TERMS 


The Picayune’s 

(gife©le (g©©k g©©k, 

450 Pages. Strongly Bound in Cloth. 

1,854-REC£IPTS-1,854. 

Endorsed by the Managers of the New St. Charles, Hotel Dene- 
chand and other Treading Hosteiries. 


By Registered Mail to any .adress 
in the United States, 


$ 1 . 25 . 


Address THE PICAYUNE, 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 


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cbi'irt u:;,;d euti'iA'S^dp tt> bo; .rirhnes;! 

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fact everyitdrfg b^y been doris ihai. wAi ioak 
the most (Utractive aa;'! ssernceEble la db ■.: ?■>; 
■jixesM;! at all times wib hv the highest sh.rjdrf \ 
table?? will be SsippHed with rd! Ibc rb-hc^svdes ?: 
markets of the North and Sr uth ef'erd, Soc^v:.. 

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Coiicixs, Bi;-k-(^s, FN^orfug Extracts, Baking | 

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